Old Phantoms Die Hard
by Trinity Destler
Summary: EC romance. Erik and Christine are happily married, but two years after the trials that taxed them all a murderer stalks the opera and- ironically- the only person not a suspect is the Phantom himself! Based on Kay.
1. Prelude in A minor

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Old Phantoms Die Hard

Prelude in A minor

Erik's lips were warm and soft, so soft; a gentle unobtrusive presence- surprisingly kissable, I thought as we stood there flush against each other, two towering pillars of emotions and anxieties and fears; shocked at our own audacity and courage. These lips I'd watched twist and purse to form words, fascinated and trying to decipher how they produced so ineffable a voice, they were so full, how could I not have noticed?

The sensation of them pressed against my own was so… freeing. It was nothing like kissing Raoul had been, his lips were plump and boyish, but it had always seemed so awkward to feel them on mine, so mechanical; I had thought that was what all kisses were like. This was so different, so completely new a feeling, like drowning but not wanting to be saved- it was alien, it was painful, it was _wonderful_. Despite the odd chill predominate in the rest of Erik's skin there was a safe warmth in his mouth I could never have guessed would be so perfect, then there was that taste; that wonderfully peculiar taste, it was strange and yet familiar….

He was too much of a gentleman, too nervous and uncertain to deepen the kiss, but I longed to be closer to him. Connected to him even just as I was I felt as though I could do anything, anything I wished to do, so long as he was with me. I parted his lips with my own and ran the tip of my tongue along his lips before pushing inside his mouth, determined to explore every inch he would allow. Erik's eyes opened wide in shock and I felt his surprise in his closeness, his shoulders tensing and his limbs stiffening in shock and self-defense at losing control of the situation. I coaxed him gently with my kiss until, tentatively, he finally began to shyly experiment in returning my gestures of love.

I felt his hand slide to the small of my back, where he pulled me up against him with little more than a gentle guiding pressure so our kiss could become more passionate. I needed little coaxing and cocked my head to the side as we moved together to that beautiful silent music that he always seemed to hear, and our closeness infused me with the spectacular grace of all his movements.

I smiled against his mouth, it felt like my soul was soaring high up in the heavens far above, flying away and laughing at the world. I had never felt like this before, never understood what a liberating emotion true happiness was, he was teaching me again, teaching me to be free- to _feel _free again, something I'd not done since I was a child. I realized with a start that there was a simple reason, I hadn't felt safe since my father died- not until this moment. I brought my hand up to Erik's head, liking the feel of his thick black hair between my fingers, sleek and soft to the touch.

Our kiss drew close to its end and he let me slide back down to earth, the floor coming up to meet my pointed toes as our duet reached its conclusion. I let the tender end of the kiss break off, secure that he now knew how I truly felt. My love had finally managed to show itself in the best way possible; touch is the sweetest herald of joy and my love could make itself apparent through my fear by no other means but to touch pure joy itself. Erik was joy, he was my joy, and in his embrace for the first time in my memory I was completely at peace.

When our lips had at last parted, I suddenly felt the unpleasant sensation of eyes on my back, the hair on my neck bristling with the feeling of being watched. I whirled around cautiously and saw Raoul standing there. Erik had released the catch that turned off the tortures and opened the inner door, one of his slim, beautiful hands still resting near where it lay hidden in the wall.

Raoul stared at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at an obvious loss for words. I started to move toward him to snap him out of it with a gentle slap across his face when his mouth closed and opened again of it's own accord. Unable to speak he shook his head only to end up staring at me again.

"Christine?" his voice was a small croak.

"Yes Raoul, it's me." I said softly, my gaze flickering to the floor between us.

"What was just happening Christine?" he asked slowly, his blunt unflattering way of annunciating my name forcing me to resist the urge to wince. He was trying to convince himself that he was hallucinating, I could see it in his eyes.

"Erik and I were...kissing Raoul." I replied slowly, wringing my hands and wishing I could return to the safety of Erik's arms. No matter how much I wished I didn't have to hurt my lifelong friend, I couldn't live like this any longer; I couldn't live one more moment of my life without Erik, without touching him, without being with him always.

"Why?" His eyes pleaded with me, desperate and glistening wetly in the dim light.

"Because we're in love…" I whispered, swallowing heavily as I faced him, staring into the abyss of hurt and betrayal in his face now. He shouldn't feel betrayed, he had no right to really, but I couldn't be angry with him for it.

He regarded me with deep pain, confusion and disbelief, barely able to force words, "But you love... me...." His voice was shaking- this was his worst fears and nightmares come true before him, since the day I couldn't assure him he was the only one in my heart he had been bitterly afraid I would chose Erik. And now it had come to pass.

"No Raoul," I took a steadying breath, uttering a silent inclination for strength divine, "I love Erik." The man himself must have been in awe of me and my newfound strength, I only wished that I could have found it sooner! Why did I need to put such a wonderful man, such a beautiful soul through so much pain?

The last thing his life needed was more suffering and I cared not, a selfish spoiled child. He would tell me it wasn't my fault, that I was too young and naïve to face my fear, that he understood… but I know that before he showed me the light; I was cruel and childish. A cold unreachable Diana in her orb, who must never be touched, who must never be loved; but he loved anyway, my small unworthy self, and no matter how he protests against it, I love him too.

He has loved me far more then any human being has ever been loved, more than one would think possible- but of course, with Erik, _all things_ are possible.

I felt his protective presence behind me, knowing that he was near gave me that courage that I had been lacking, "I'm sorry Raoul, I never did love you, I only thought I did." I bowed my head in shame at my stupidity, that which almost cost the lives of my dearest friend and my only love. I swallowed the guilt- needing to get through this, "I am not a child anymore you see, I think that in many ways, you still are."

"I love you too much not to let you be happy Christine, I will not do anything that would make me ashamed to face your papa..." Raoul trailed off, staring wistfully at the floor, absorbed in some memory or other. He continued, murmuring more to himself than anyone else, "You never loved me…. If one thing was certain in my life it has always been that you were there, to love me, that we would always be together..."

"Raoul, you're like my brother, I...."

He held up a silencing hand.

"It's all right Christine, you needn't try to comfort me... I can see you don't love me... not like I love you.... I don't know what to say to you now, in parting." He paused, putting one hand into his waistcoat pocket, thoughtfully, "You always told me how much he frightened you, my dear Christine, I can't believe I could have been so blind. My friend… yes, my one and only friend who is so _fickle_ in her ways she manages to get people killed without lifting a finger! Manages to drive grown men mad with an upturned face and a great big tear rolling down that porcelain perfect cheek- you know he's right, you _do _have such talent for crying! And using it to play us all like chess pieces!"

Raoul stopped his tirade abruptly, putting a hand to his brow and sucking in big swallows of breath, trying desperately to stop the tears, "I'm sorry, I... I'm so sorry. Please, if you could find it in your heart to forgive me Christine… I can't leave you knowing that you'll think any less of me."

"It's all right Raoul, I understand." I murmured quietly, averting my eyes from his to avoid his direct, accusing gaze.

He looked at me helplessly, "Goodbye, Christine… m- may happiness find you."

"It already has," I whispered softly, gently, trying not to hurt him with words I knew could be sharp.

Raoul nodded shortly, approaching me while keeping his head down to hide the tears, he kissed my hand and then bowed curtly to Erik. "Sir, under different circumstances you are the kind of man I would be honored to call friend and I apologize for my narrow-minded, asinine behaviours- it was wrong of me."

"As I you sir, your conduct tonight has been most admirable." Erik responded shortly, his mismatched eyes keeping careful watch over Raoul, not trusting him despite all outward appearances.

Raoul, even in the depths of his despair reacted to that voice, he seemed to gain a little strength from the unreality hearing it brought to the mind and used it to take firm possession of his rampant emotions. "You have already done the same for me countless times monsieur, and it is obvious that the lady has made her choice."

Erik acknowledged the remark with a quick nod, gazing after Raoul as he returned his attention to me, his expression unfathomable.

"Little Lotte..." the boy who chased my scarf looked at me sadly, realizing that the dream had faded and that he had been wrong about which one of us had grown and which was left alone on that beach. He took a deep breath, "You have found your Angel of music at last, but remember the friends you made... remember... me." he fingered a ringlet of my chocolate brown hair sadly. "Peace be with you, God bless," he choked and a tear rolled down his cheek as he took one last lingering glance at me and made his exit while he still retained his dignity.

"God has blessed this day indeed," Erik whispered as he stepped out of the darkness in front of me, raising an elegant hand and letting one finger tip run down my cheek in a chilling, but beautiful caress.

"He said it best," I said softly as I snuggled against his hand, "this day I have found my Angel of music at last." I could say no more, nor wanted to, as his lips were on mine.


	2. Variation on a theme by Neumark

A/n: People who like Carlotta will be offended if they read this, (but who likes Carlotta?).

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Variation on a theme, in E# major

Carlotta's Adventure in the Hallway

Carlotta was humming rather loudly as she moved through the darkened corridors of the opera house, more to annoy passer by than to attempt to cheer the gloomy atmosphere. In fact, she liked the gloom, the air thick with heavy yellow cigarette smoke, creeping out under dressing room doors and curling along the elegantly decorated walls, hanging its haze everywhere. The gas lamps did little to cut through the smog, their shallow circles of light simply illuminating the swirling dust particles Carlotta stirred as she whisked passed, voluminous skirts rustling. She was heading steadily to her dressing room, her pace brisk and her mood uncaring- but she halted abruptly when she could swear she heard the light tread of dainty footsteps behind her.

When she stopped, however, she heard nothing, nothing save the beating of her own heart and her own scolding beneath her breath for being so easily frightened. She held her head high and continued on her way, not seeing the shadow of a figure passing the light streaming from an open doorway. The steps again stopped her in her tracks.

"Who's there?" she demanded, whirling as whomever it was moved in front of the light, silhouetting their figure.

The mysterious person turned slightly and the light glinted off their features, showing them to be wearing a very enigmatic smile.

"Oh it's _you,_" Carlotta sniffed indignantly, "Who do you think you are, stalking corridors and frightening people?"

They said nothing, but raised their arm, displaying the glint of a knife.

"What are you doing with that-" she began huffily, irritated- but had no time to finish her question, or hear the answer as a bloodcurdling scream pierced the calm air.

Carlotta's lifeless body slumped to the floor as the shadow staggered away high on the kill.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The police inspector coughed to himself, waiting decidedly _im_patiently for the excitable ballet girls to finish their story.

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This is going to be a long and tedious day, he thought with melancholy as he mentally reviewed the facts. One monsieur Moncharmin had discovered the body of the former opera diva La Carlotta stabbed three times and very dead. They knew almost nothing; the facts were thin, very thin.

All the residents could say was, "It's him!" or "She angered the Phantom!"

The managers had told the inspector that the opera ghost had stopped making demands and ceased any communication at all two years ago. Whatever the explanation for that mysterious personage he didn't think it applied to this murder. He rubbed his temples with one care-worn hand as he dismissed the young ladies he'd been questioning, but, glancing up, he caught a glimpse of a man standing just inside the doorway rush away, _That's suspicious…_

"Monsieur! Stop!" hurrying into the hall he was just in time to see the figure turn a corner, "You monsieur, stop!"

"Yes, monsieur inspector?" the tall fugitive asked, stepping back into the corridor, his voice thick with an indistinguishable accent, but his French grammar impeccable. 

"I would like to question you in the matter of Madame Carlotta's murder, sir." The inspector said wearily, suddenly getting the feeling that he was headed for another long, completely useless wild goose chase, this foreigner struck him as a little too slick for someone just passing through, but there was nothing at all malicious about the elder gentleman. He was certainly too old to have taken down a woman like La Carlotta. 

"Whatever for? I do not even work here." The man's bright green eyes devoured the inspector as he raised a condescending eyebrow.

"You seemed farily interested in the proceedings just now, so I will ask, for your own benefit of course, that take part in the investigation instead of just watching from the sidelines. Inspector Maurice DeGent." He introduced himself, extending a hand.

The foreigner regarded his hand doubtfully with a look of fuming anger at being caught in the act, then answered shortly, "Daroga Nadir Kahn." He pushed past Maurice, ignoring the offer of a handshake, and led the way back into the wings where the questioning had been taking place, prop chairs set in a sort of semi-circle served as the interrogation room which had lately held the ballet rats.

The good daroga looked decidedly bored as he arranged himself facing the large chair, set apart from the circle where the detective would sit, "What is it you need to ask me inspector? I do hope you won't be all day about it." He commented dryly, turning to face Maurice as he sat down.

"First of all, I should like to ask you if you know anything about this 'Opera Ghost' everyone in this old mausoleum is constantly tittering about."

This seemed to have profound and immediate affect on Nadir, "The opera ghost? The opera ghost is dead, monsieur."

"Dead?" Maurice repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Nadir nodded.

"How is it that a ghost managed to die?"

"Do not concern yourself sir, only remember that no one in this house has anything more to fear from the 'ghost'." Nadir was almost brutally business-like and seemed to have some sort of personal vendetta against any more spectral activities on the premises.

Maurice was intrigued. Everyone else he'd met seemed in an awful hurry to push responsibility for all unfortunate events on the ghost, and this man, this Nadir wanted to ensure, if nothing else that the ghost wasn't blamed. _How interesting…_

The course of questioning remained its mundane self; the daroga's replies only occasionally interesting. He utterly refused to speak of the ghost, proclaiming that no good would come of it and he should never have told anyone anything in the first place.

Maurice retrieved Nadir's address after much strife in case he should need to speak to him again and wrapped up his duties. Knowing as little as he did about the ghost's legacy, he wasn't as anxious as he ought to have been.


	3. Requiem: Mass for the Dead

_Requiem: Mass for the Dead _  
Nadir's Indignation

Nadir was finally releasing his fury in small, fierce bursts of energy, stomping his way around the Opera Garnier to the Rue Scribe as if he were trying to crack every single cobblestone on the street. He was not what he would call a violent man, but when you are the conscience of a man capable of practically anything, the line must be clearly drawn! He had finally been content in the knowledge that Erik would _never _kill again except in the most _dire _need; why would he bother and bring down his friend's wrath? He had everything he wanted now, the man was finally happy- praise Allah!- and what does he do?

_Carlotta_! Hah! Did he really think employing such a clumsy approach would be sufficient to disguise his motives from the one man who knew him best? Nadir snorted in disgust, both with his charge and with himself for being so easily convinced of Erik's self-control in such matters. Carlotta hated Christine, and Christine had always been Erik's breaking point.

Reaching the enormous stone door to the underground house, Nadir prepared to hit the trip that would send Erik's alarm bells ringing; but the door opened before he could move. Erik stood inside the doorway; in his shirtsleeves, his collar undone and the ends of his cravat hanging down his front; he looked decidedly dishevled. One of his impossibly long, slim hands held the doorframe, his tall, whisper thin figure blocking Nadir's view of the house beyond.

The daroga raised a quizzical eyebrow, _What _is_ going on?_

Erik rarely looked so flustered. His thick black hair- usually meticulously combed backward from his brow- was slipping over his forehead unrulingly, and he ran a hand through the errant locks, sighing heavily.

"I wondered when you would arrive," his disturbingly melodious voice was exasperated as he moved to let Nadir passed him into the house.

Christine was relaxing on the sofa with a glass of wine in her petit, gloved hand, her hair falling in haphazard ringlets from its gilded silver combs and her costume looking rather hastily donned.

"I know exactly why you're here, Nadir, but I didn't kill her." Erik said frankly from his post by the door, leaning against the wall with an irritated insolence.

Nadir turned back to him, his expression darkening, "You will forgive me if I don't believe you." He quipped cooly, bright green eyes flashing.

Erik sighed, pushing his hair back again in a helpless gesture.

"You honestly expect me to believe it was anyone else?" Nadir exploded, "I tried to defend you from the inspector moron they sent but I am not blind! I can't say I blame you for hating her, but you promised not to kill anymore! Not only me, you promised Christine!" the Persian's face wasn't just angry, but pleading.

"Nadir," Christine broke in quietly, standing from her vigil on the couch. "Erik didn't kill her," she rested gentle fingerson his arm, "we were here last night. Besides, he has told me he didn't and I believe him."

"Christine, I'm sorry your husband broke his promise, but who else- "

"Nadir! You know me better than that!" Erik interjected, looking genuinely offended at the charges against his honour. "I do not kill without reason and I do not break my word. Carlotta may infuriate me but I didn't end her life." He pleaded with his mismatched eyes, "I did not leave this house last night."

Nadir shook his head, reluctantly, but resolutely.

"Fine, believe what you please. _I_ know I am innocent." Erik left the room, throwing up his hands in frustration, his footsteps heavier than usual.

Christine looked after him sadly, "I promise you Nadir, he didn't."

"Who did?" he crossed the room to stare into the fire, "Formerly I would  
believed him if he said he wasn't responsible. His word should be enough for me;  
he's never broken it so far as I know. But there is no other answer!"

"There must be, because my husband did not leave this house." She turned  
away crossing her arms.

Living with Erik was good for her, Nadir thought absently as he came up behind her, "Alright Christine. I will do all in my power to find the real culprit."

She faced him again, smiling softly,"Thank-you."

_A/N: Blah, this chap is somewhat bad…the next one is much better, more  
fun, it involves wine, lots of winnneeeee! Ahem. Sorry about the shortness, I was  
at singing lessons and I didn't have a whole lot of time to type this._


	4. Ode to the Bottle Cut Time

_Ode to the Bottle (Cut Time)  
_

_A Little Visit to Some…Friends._

Raoul steadied himself against the wall of the opera, breathing deeply and going over his annual mental mantra; preparation, he had learned, was necessary before seeing his one-time finacee with... _him_. He had started visiting Christine only a fortnight after it had all happened, not being able to bear leaving her all alone with her 'Maestro'… His wife Vanessa resented his frequent absences, but he didn't care. Arranged marriage had been the only option left to him once his love was stolen away from him and his brother insisted he needed to settle. Not that he didn't explore every other possible avenue of escape open to him first.

But he needn't think about that, he certainly didn't want to; soon he'd see Christine again. Even if it _did _have to be in the company of that infernal dark 'angel' of hers, whose fault it all was to begin with. If it weren't for him, Christine would be_ his _wife and everything would have turned out the way it was_ supposed_ to.

Raoul passed through the Rue Scribe gates, Nadir holding the lantern high to light his way down the stairs. Nadir: whenever he wanted to see Christine he was forced to call on Nadir, not just to gain access but to make an appointment.

Frankly, he wasn't at all surprised that Erik didn't trust him with a key. It was the necessity of waiting for their leisure that he found offensive. Not that it was really justified vexation, not at all considering he was the one trying to monopolize _their _time, but it had always seemed to him that Erik and Christine could never be like a normal couple. It just wasn't plausible to him, in some small corner of his mind he still hadn't accepted that Christine _choose _to stay with Erik. They had, however, shattered his views by their astoundingly everyday, affectionatebehaviour.

Nadir was always granted entrance first, then, several moments later, he followed. The Persian had explained that Erik no longer wore a mask and that he put one on solely for Raoul's comfort. Consequently, it took a moment to find and don even with Christine helping. Raoul had suspected this and when he had asked why he simply didn't put it on earlier Nadir hadn't hesitated,

"He doesn't wish to wear it for a second longer than he must. You see viscount, it is dreadfully uncomfortably and now that Christine has proven she loves his face just so much as any other part of him he, understandably, hates the mask with a passion."

Raoul frowned miserably to himself as he descended into the dark cellars, muttering under his breath.

"Blearydemon, walking about with that atrocity on display." He kicked the slick, damp stone of the ground beneath his feet, wondering if he might be able to shove Nadir into thefrigid underground waters of the lakebefore the older man noticed him gaining.

The Persianturned sharply and motioned for silence, they were skirting the edge of that very black pool even as he spoke, where every sound was multiplied a million fold.

"The cellar keepers are not so far off Monsieur le Viscount. Watch your noise." His whispered harshly, hisexpression a mask of calmthatslipped slightly as he glared at his charge.

Raoul sniggered silently at the irritation in Nadir's voice, something that- all things considered- was notparticularly wise. Raoul had to admit being the best friend of the Phantom of the Opera had its perks. Nadir had nothing to fear from him anyway, he knew better than to challenge Erik; he was not a force to betrifeled with.

Speaking of which… Erik waited for them with the boat, his dwarfingheight never ceased to amaze Raoul: the man was enormous and looming, like the statues of the saints that inhabited the small acloves at Notre Dame. The viscount tried to shake thememories he had ofthe watchful, hounded feeling those stone edifaces used to give him.He allowed himself to be shepherded into the small craft and held the sides as it rocked under Nadir's weight. He didn't feel Erik get in, he never did….

The boat shot across the glassy lake at a rapid pace, Erik poling it to its niche when they reached the opposite shore. Nadir held Raoul back with an arm as Erik opened the door, he couldn't see why this was necessary, even if he managed to master the complicated- not to mention left-handed-mechanism he could never get here by himself.

The heavy door sung open and Erik and Nadir stepped inside, Raoul waited a few moments and entered after them. Nadir already stood by the fireplace with a glass of whiskey watching the flames with curious intensity, Erik leaned against a desk on the other side of the room, as detached from the rest of the occupants as he could get without leaving, his coat and hat removed.

And there on the over stuffed black sofa sat Christine, laughing gaily at something Erik had said on his way in and as beautiful as any cherub that dwelt in heaven. Her chocolate hair spilling in cascading ringlets over her slim, feminine shoulders and her pasty white-pink dress and blood-red sash hugging her womanly figure. She smiled at Erik's sombre attitude her eyes sparkling in mirth and affection.

Hearing Raoul's footsteps, she turned on him, rewarding him with another warm welcoming smile. Raoul inclined his head, fiddling with his hat and gloves as she rose and made her way over to him with open arms.

"It is good to see you Raoul!" she exclaimed in genuine pleasure embracing him, "You shouldn't stay away so long, we miss you!"

Erik snorted.

The heavenly creature turned on him the sparkle returning to her eye. She feigned a look of disapproval, "Now don't be that way to our dear friend!" She smiled at Raoul again as she linked her arm through her husbands. Raoul forced a pleasant look onto his face at the picture of happiness they presented.

It killed him to see again and again that Christine didn't love him, not even a little bit, she showed no remorse whatsoever at their parting or at their many reunions. His eye twitched as he looked at them, his right eye. Raoul closed his offending orifices and forced himself to calm down, opening them again he saw Christine poke her husband playfully then turn to him and motion for him to come to dinner. He nodded with a smile and set his things down; determined to enjoy her company for the short time it was granted to him.

Several hours later Raoul and Nadir sat on opposite ends of the sofa, Christine and Erik sharing the large chair. Christine seemed to have become slightly over-intoxicated and was showing it, Nadir was trying desperately to have a serious conversation with Erik, whowas constantly having to pickChristine up as she flopped over him and otherwise prevent her from embarrassing herself further while attempting to listen.

Raoul submitted a comment now and then but the topic was usually well beyond him. Otherwise he just watched Christine, occasionally losing balance and falling unceremoniously across Erik's lap, he picked her up and put her right again wordlessly, still trying to be polite to Nadir, but obviously quite hard pressed to keep from laughing.

Christine began singing to herself, Nadir's talk suffering even more for anyone's attention. Raoul had no idea what she was singing but it made him wish he could join in, he'd never been able to sing, besides he was completely tone deaf.

"Are you quite certain that everyone wishes to hear the complete legends of Tir Na Nog my dear?" Erik asked pointedly, turning her to face him with long, slender fingers sweeping along the tender curve of her chin.

"I am quite sure that they do! My dear yourself!" She sang back playfully, smiling at him and putting her own hand over his, wrapping her little fingers around his.

Erik smiled in spite of himself, "Now you have gone and injured my ego, such a serpent's tongue!"

She laughed at him, "Yes, and you just the poor innocent victim of my horrible wit."

"Yes," he replied childishly crossing his arms.

She snickered and finally could contain herself no longer and burst out laughing throwing her arms around his neck. "Fine! You win! I couldn't keep a straight face that long if my life depended on it!" she yawned suddenly and settled against him.

He looked mildly embarrassed, laying an arm about her shoulder, "I think it is time you left Messieurs. My dear wife has decreed this officially, bed-time." Erik said lifting her up to carry into their room. He returned a moment later and saw them out.

Nadir took Raoul to the upper section of the opera and left him to his own devices.


	5. The Questionable Affair of the Clarinet

The Questionable Affair of the Clarinet  
  
A/N: Is M. Reyer a likable character? I've never seen the musical.  
  
Monsieur Reyer finished locking up the instrument storage room and turned   
to leave, but someone was blocking his path.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he demanded with annoyance, "There's no reason for   
you to be, you can't possibly hope to actually accomplish anything, I- What are   
you doing with that? Come now give it here." They snatched it from his grasp;   
Reyer shot them a look. "Give it to me! What, you're going to steal it? Is that it?   
Honestly, it's not like you can't buy your own, hell I'll give you lessons if you   
like! Now give it to me!" they shook their head raising their free hand in warning.  
  
"I don't need lessons, I can play just fine." A gruff voice said hoisting the   
clarinet high in the air. Reyer's mouth opened in question but he was given no   
opportunity to ask before the instrument was filling his mouth, his throat, tearing at   
his insides. A strangled noise gurgled from him as he sunk to the floor.  
  
"Never did like clarinets." They jested to themselves jogging down the   
hallway soon filling it with the echo of their satanical laughter.   
  
The sickening smothered and garroted body of the music director was discovered   
the next day by a scene shifter who promptly lost his lunch. Nadir saw the   
disgusting remains of the psychopath's twisted fun and prayed to Allah that Erik   
had found out who the killer was.   
  
He saw Christine standing in box five as he crossed the stage to find the   
police who were gathering evidence. The opera had two ghosts now the Phantom   
and the Phantomess… She disappeared through the curtains evidently looking for   
Erik.   
  
Christine slipped into one of the infinite secret passages of the opera, she   
hated to be out without Erik, she didn't know this place well enough to be at ease   
alone in it's black corridors. It had been necessary seeing as how she had gone in   
search of him.  
  
Her quest had been successful because he was pacing this very passage   
muttering to himself. She watched him for a moment in the halflight, wandering   
what vexed him so. He rubbed his forehead in frustration; he seemed to be in some   
sort of inner turmoil.   
  
"Erik?" she asked timidly. He must have known she was there because he   
was not at all surprised. He stopped pacing suddenly and turned to Christine,   
laying a hand on her cheek he asked her quietly,  
  
"Do you still value Raoul as your brother?" she searched his eyes for an   
explanation but, finding none replied,  
  
"Yes of course I do. He is my dearest friend, he's all I have left from the   
times when…"   
  
"You have to let go Christine, you cannot shield yourself forever. Raoul   
isn't a child any longer and neither are you. Holding on to him will not bring your   
father back." She nodded, closing her eyes on the tears that threatened to fall. One   
escaped down her cheek and he caught it on his thumb.   
  
"Why are you asking me this?" he sighed, looking away.  
  
"I need to."  
  
"I don't understand." He looked down,  
  
"You do not need to understand, you need to remember, Raoul may not be   
who he used to be."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You will understand Christine, have patience and all shall reveal itself in   
due course."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Shh." He held a silencing finger to her lips, "I can see you're not prepared   
for what is coming. Sometimes it is better not to know, trust in that." Christine   
succumbed her curiosity much aroused. "Good, you agree, if not now you will   
comprehend in time."   
  
"Erik?" he regarded her questioningly, "I'm frightened."  
  
"Frightened? Whatever for?"  
  
"What if this murderer…?"   
  
"I don't think you should have any fear of that my dear."  
  
"I know, but suppose I'm alone."  
  
"Then I shan't ever leave you alone."  
  
***  
  
Nadir had spoken to Inspector de Gent again; the man was so painfully easy   
to read. Subtly was completely lost on him. The interview had been fruitless for   
both participants, par expectations. Nadir probably knew more about the case then   
that daft policeman; he had certainly learned more about garroting then he ever   
wished to know. The silly ballet girls were extremely shaken up; they had been   
rendered completely speechless for the first time in the history of the opera   
populaire; Nadir was starting to like this killer.   
  
Whomever it was, the police said, was of slight build and average height.   
Nadir was curious as to how they had arrived at the aforementioned conclusions   
but kept his questions and opinions to himself.  
  
So the police were not totally incompetent, they were still a pack of fools.   
They had trodden all over the 'lieu du crime' before a single detective or anyone   
else with a brain came to check for clues. Some of the most crucial pieces of   
evidence are the attitude of the body and other objects in the room. He hadn't   
needed to solve a lot of mysteries in Persia but he still knew how to go about it! It   
was an insult to law enforcement everywhere to call this sham an investigation! 


	6. THE ANGEL LIVES!

The Return of the Angel of Music

Or

THE ANGEL LIVES!!!!!!!

Christine reviewed what she was about to do as she raised her foot to what felt like the zillionth stair. She hadn't spoken to Meg for two years, not since she had decided to stay with Erik. He wanted her to continue her career and further herself, but she had convinced him to let her take a holiday from the opera… in the opera. 

They hadn't realized that time would fly past as it had, the next time she went upstairs a year had already passed and people had assumed her dead. Then again, it was never wise to make assumptions, particularly wherever Erik was concerned. 

No matter, she would simply disprove all theorems they may have about her. Since her "disappearance" Meg had moved into her old dressing room; that figured into immense possibility for amusement. 

Finally reaching the corridor behind the mirror, she saw the room from what seemed like so long ago. She'd been so naïve and immature then, she still would be if… She could look into the room as through any ordinary window, a very clean one. 

Meg was brushing her hair out, humming the tune to one of the songs from the current opera, _deja vu _Christine thought to herself.

Erik had tried very hard to teach her the basics of ventriloquism but she had never been able to master anything but throwing her voice to sound as if it were inside someone's head. That skill was about to become extremely useful. 

'Meg, it is time for you to hear from the Angel of Music!' she tried to boom; failing miserably, this was far more impressive when Erik did it. It worked nonetheless; Meg turned white, dropped her brush and fell off the chair. Standing again she called out her voice wavering. 

'Who's there? If you heard the story I'm _not _Christine okay!"

'Yes, but I am.' The mirror spun on its pivot, showing Meg a million copies of herself and then Christine walking toward her, arms outstretched. 

'Christine? Christine!?' she ran into her friend's embrace and hugged her with all her might, 'My God, Christine! You're alive! What's happened? Where have you been?' Meg gasped; she had been clutching Christine's hand and now came across her plain gold engagement ring and black onyx wedding ring.

'And who are you _married_ to!?!'she looked up wonderingly at her friend. 'Two years ago Raoul came up from the cellars, marched straight for his brother and told him his arranged marriage was back on. I was a guest at their wedding! Who are you married to!?'

'You're not going to believe me, so I will tell you the whole story… From my position.' 

***

It had taken several hours, a lot of gasps and out cries, but Meg finally knew the truth, all of it. And was semi-used to the idea. 

'After our somewhat unorthodox ceremony when I came back… He made love to me and I left thinking he was dying… I was pleasantly surprised however and we were married in a chapel by a young priest in the dead of night.' Meg stared at her in silence for a long time, and after another's hour of conversation she collected herself enough to act as though it was quite natural for her best friend to be the wife of the fearsome Phantom.

'I'm really glad you decided to come Christine, I've needed someone to talk to. My mother… she's unwell.'

'How do you mean?'

'She's always exhausted, out at odd hours and is constantly mumbling about someone called Richard. I worry about her. Whenever I ask her what the matter is she puts an arm around me and says "Your poor father, your poor father." Over and over.'

'I thought your father was dead…'

'He is, perhaps she is missing him…'

'Did you ever think that he's alive and she saw him?'

'Not possible.' Christine raised an eyebrow,

'Impossible?' she laughed.

'I have a feeling you'll say a lot of things I don't understand from now on…' Meg muttered darkly.

Raoul cowered in fear as the mist swirled and licked in wisps at his legs, wanting to sallow him up while the shadow loomed over him with a leering posture. The air grew heavy as the apparition's face neared Raoul's; It seemed to have an atmosphere of Its own, one of cold icy contempt but at the same time one of hot stench. The stench of death. The fearsome figure threw Its arm back, as It did so a knife becoming apparent in Its hand. The shade looked up at Its weapon, Its cowl falling back from its head as It did so and Raoul screamed in horror as he saw the face within. It smiled at his expression of terrified disbelief and began the motion of plunging Its heavy dagger into his gut when clammy and disquieted: Raoul woke up. Beside him his wife Vanessa stirred, awoken by his high pitched shriek. 

* * *

Christine walked with a contented bounce in her step and an enormous grin on her face through the halls of the opera. Suddenly attacked by a gust of cool air, she turned to see her black-swathed lover materialize out of the darkness. 

'What are you doing up here, even with no one about?' he asked with a hint teasing in his unearthly beautiful voice. She giggled as he swirled her into his arms, supporting her while she swung like a drunkard in his embrace.

'Well today I marched straight into that manager's office and you know what I said? I said "Gentlemen, it is high time you hired a new Prima Donna!" and their respective countenances fell to their highly polished shoes! Oh Erik it was jolly funny, you'd have loved it! So I sang for them again and they prepared a contract (here it is) and all I have to do is sign it!' he burst out laughing.

'That's glorious darling! We must celebrate those incompetent fools finally recognizing talent! My dear, I salute you!' and he did.

She grinned in a most malevolent manner, reaching up to flick the edge of his mask so it sat higher on his face then it was meant to; exposing his lips for easier access. 

'Aren't you going to congratulate me properly?' she questioned provokingly, throwing her arms out to the sides and leaning far back over his arm. 

'Oh forgive me!' he cried with mocking passion and a laugh as he bent to claim her welcoming lips. The kiss lasted a long time and their silent observer, the only person beside themselves in the opera that night fell against the wall he'd been hiding behind and slid down it, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking slowly. 

Not being able to resist the spy peaked around the corner again: Erik broke the kiss and bumped his mask back down into place with a grin. Christine straightened laughing, then frowned at him.

'I don't know why you have the cursed thing on anyway, there's no one here…' she smiled, 'Just us.' He eyed her with a wary half smile,

'Some among us still believe in caution.'

'Yes, and some dwell in it.' A look of amused indignation crossed his face, then an expression rendered unreadable by the mask.

'Nadir was right about you!' she raised an eyebrow at his laughing tone.

'Why, what did he say?' she asked suspiciously.

'That living with me was making you intolerably like me, that is, awfully foreword.'

'Is that good?' she inquired smugly.

'That depends on how you look at it doesn't it?' she nudged him as he smiled crookedly. He caught her and kissed her shoulder briefly, making for the passage. 'I think I have some champagne at home.' The side of his white mask was visible and luminescent in the dark for a moment as he glanced at her, 'Are we celebrating?'

'Do we really need the champagne?' Raoul could feel the look of amused surprise she was receiving for her uncivil implication, but the secret door closed and he heard no more.

A few silent moments passed and he rose with a strange sheen in his twitching right eye. 


	7. In Which the Plot Thickens and A Slightl

In Which the Plot Thickens 

And 

Slightly Vulgar Conversation Occurs

Nadir stopped before he rounded the corner and listened to the low voices just beyond it. It was one of the managers and that inspector fellow; Maurice de Gent. 

"Monsieur," said de Gent as if losing patience, "please, whatever you must discuss bring it forth! I'm a very busy man, there's been a murder elsewhere in the city." Nadir heard him shifting in place, eager to depart.

"I'm sorry to keep you but I fear for my partner's wellbeing…" 

"That is very sad to hear but not really my concern, now if-" 

"Sir!" the gentleman interjected forcefully, "It is very much your concern if you would only listen!" The inspector was silenced for the moment, presumably in surprise.

"Very well M. Moncharmin." The manager hurried on in hushed tones, speaking rapidly as though that would somehow prevent eavesdropping. 

"My partner has kept very odd hours of late and is constantly muttering to himself when I enter the office, upon that action however he abruptly stops. He hated our late Diva; La Carlotta very much and her untimely death seemed to alter his mood for the better… Soon though he sunk back into a very melancholy disposition and became quick to anger. Then poor M. Reyer, God rest his soul," here pausing to cross himself, "was _done away with_ and he cheered again." He stopped for breath, his bizarre tale causing him some disquiet. "Tell me inspector, is it coincidence? Do I imagine?"

A very uneasy silence fell over them, their shadows long on the opposite wall by the light of the gas lamp. Nadir could see that Moncharmin was leaning toward the Inspector with an anxious mannerism, while Maurice himself had his head bowed in an attitude of thought.

One could almost feel their tension, the nervous manager was genuinely concerned for his friend and it showed.

"It is very queer… I cannot say that it is just coincidence but it's a long way from being conclusive…" the inspector walked away a few steps then turned back, "Do you believe the man capable of killing?"

The gasp of utter shock on the air was answer enough, but the tone of outrage in his reply made it clear that he had not really considered the consequences of his earlier words or their implications.

"Sir my partner and I have been through a great deal in our relatively short time here and he can have vile tempers but I would not suggest for a moment that he would kill!" 

"To what do you attribute his behaviors, Monsieur?"

"I have my suspicions…" the way the sentence hung unfinished in the gloom made Nadir raise an eyebrow and listen closer in helpless intrigue. 

"Yes?"

"I blame certain personal difficulties."

"If you're going to tell me this as evidence to the murders you have to tell me everything. I could arrest him now." A hostile quietness,

"Monsieur's wife passed away while birthing their first child, the infant died two hours later. I could assume he takes comfort in the arms of…a woman of the opera."

"That does not explain his lifted spirits after the murders."

"Perhaps it was those nights he was with her."

"But he is always out at unusual times, is he not?" de Gent two, Moncharmin nothing. The manager seemed at inner war whether giving away information or casting suspicion was the lesser evil.

"Personally Monsieur I doubt the whole story."

"It was your-."

"About his wife."

"Do you mean to imply-?"

"I mean only what I say Monsieur."

"Very well, let's suppose for a moment that his wife is in hiding here at the opera as a player." Moncharmin nodded, his shadow bobbing with the motion, "He cannot resist and begins seeing her again… Let us also suppose she hates Carlotta because she is always the star… She tells her husband this over and over until finally out of frustration he kills Carlotta to please her." He held up a hand to prevent the immanent interruption, "And Reyer constantly critiques her voice or technique and she hates him too…" 

"No inspector, no."

"Alright, reverse the scenario, perhaps he tells her about the pain Carlotta gives him…" 

"No, there must be some other explanation." 

"You're welcome to find it, I must get back to my other case." Nadir started at this reminder, he wanted to accost the inspector and interrogate _him _regarding this new nuance of the plot. 

As Maurice moved toward him he waited until he heard the door of the manager's office click closed, then stepped into his path. 

"Inspector, I should like to speak to you regarding this murder."

"Which one?" Maurice retorted with a bitter laugh,

"The one elsewhere in the city." His eyes narrowed,

"You shouldn't listen to things you are not intended to hear friend." He tried to continue but Nadir took his shoulder and turned him around to face him.

"Please, it won't take a moment."

"Why can't you just wait for the post?" he sighed, "Across town not far from the park a woman in her early twenties was brutally murdered via a dagger of knife of sorts…" Nadir's face had become blank and devoid of expression and his eyes stared stonily at the wall behind de Gent as if deep in thought. He suddenly seemed to remember Maurice and dismissed himself in a state of grace.

"Erik is not going to be happy."

* * *

Much to Nadir's open astonishment nothing he said was news to his old friend. Nadir watched him while keeping sharp hold on the tiny pangs of envy that seemed to haunt him of late. He wasn't much older then Erik but they looked lifetimes apart, Mazendern had aged him… 

But Erik seemed to have ceased to age altogether, his attacks had disappeared within a month of being married and he looked at most thirty-five. Not a hair on his head turned from its all-encompassing black and he was as lean and rigidly fit as ever he was at nineteen! Allah! But it had been years ago when they met! He would not have known him for so young then or so old now! 

Not only his utter refusal to grow old, his wife had to be the most beautiful creature on the earth, and she loved him more than life itself.

"You'll find that little escapes my knowledge when it concerns my home, Nadir." He sipped at the tea Christine had insisted upon making and hid a grimace. "All this time…" he muttered, putting it down, "Do you suspect the managers?"

"It is difficult not to…but yet…" Erik nodded, 

"Something tells you you are mistaken." Christine looked at the full teacup and shot him a look fit to curdle milk, he shrugged helplessly, "Hot!" she collected the cup and stormed off, drifting back in inconspicuously later. Erik snickered, returning his attention to Nadir, "If not them, who?"

"Exactly!" Nadir slapped his knee with the flat of his hand in satisfaction. Erik looked rather amused,

"There is something to be discovered about our dear managers, and a very close friend of Christine's. Come have a seat, my dear." Christine had been wandering the room pretending not to listen, as if she thought she didn't belong. But she seized the opportunity and took her place beside Erik without hesitation.

"Mme. Giry," she began seriously, "Meg's mother has been acting in a strange manner similar to Monsieur Richard's. It happens that her late father's Christian name was Richard." She spread her hands meaningfully, "We cannot tell if her ramblings of 'Richard' are about her husband or our Monsieur Richard."

"What connection could she possibly harbor for Monsieur Richard?"

"I do not know, but I aim to discover it." Erik said. 

"Is Mme. Giry not your box keeper?"

"She was."

"So she 'knows' you?"

"The Phantom was always kind to her and a well considered note that reminds her to use desecration should not upset her."

"Do you think she'll tell you?"

"I cannot say… Whenever I think I have humans deciphered they turn about and baffle me again." This last with a loving glance at the slight woman seated next to him.

"I will talk to Meg…" she added, staring back at him. Nadir fidgeted, uncomfortable in his seat in the presence of the electric current that crackled between them. Erik; however, could always be counted upon. 

"Not to be rude Nadir but you look fatigued, I suggest you return home to bed and bath and refrain from anymore thinking!" Nadir laughed merrily even as he stood pleased by the thought. Just as living with Erik had done Christine good, living with her had done well for him. 

"Goodbye Nadir." Christine said kissing each of his cheeks.

"Goodbye Mme. de l'Opera!" she laughed heartily at the reminder of a joke begun by Erik when they were first married. They'd compared the title she could have had (Viscomtess de Chagny) to the one she acquired (Phantomess de l'Opera) and both decided the superiority of the second.

Erik bid him farewell in his native Persian and Nadir savored the sound of the words a moment before retorting in French and promptly leaving. 

"Where were we?" Erik asked, turning to find his wife right behind him.

"Somewhere around here." She replied cheekily, slipping a hand under his shirt through the space between buttons. She felt the rumble of a little laugh in his well-muscled chest.

"Mmm, we _should _attend to our new-begotten commitments."

"We _should_." She pulled his cravat untied, heedless of his protest. 

"Christine!" he exclaimed as she pushed his shirt back from his shoulders, running her hands over the smooth flesh in loving caresses, pausing to slide a slender finger along a lash-scar that curled over his shoulder and down his collar bone. He pulled her hands away and held them together by the wrists, kissing her plump little lips once before turning away to repair the disarray of his clothing. "No." he finished teasingly over his shoulder. She pouted, walking around him and insisting on buttoning his shirt and tying his cravat herself.

"Nice shirt for a ghost." She smiled, tugging on the lapels of his waistcoat.

"A shameful waste, isn't it?" he mocked in return, "I love you, Christine de l'Opera."

"I love you, dearest Phantom." They met in a little kiss that would have to sustain them until the completion of their various tasks. 

* * *

Mme Giry had gone for a walk and suddenly discovered that her feet had led her to box five.

"Hello old friend." She murmured to the air as she ran her age-crinkled hand over the soft velvet of the seat cushions and the drapery of the heavy curtain. "What…?" she breathed, seeing an envelope on the thick railing. 

The paper was crisp and of high quality…Not only that, there was something familiar about the back-sloping lettering with a pattern that indicated an artist's hand but something hurried as though the author was always in a rush, always thinking. 

She ran a finger over her own name clearly defined in that disorderly, strangely beautiful and ineffably masculine hand in gold ink. Flipping the letter over she found it sealed and stamped with an old fashioned seal; a rose… Cracking the wax, she pulled out the artfully folded paper within.

__

My Dear Madame Giry, 

It has been presented to me, Madame that you are troubled and I consider this a time to renew our esteemed friendship. If you can forgive me for my negligence, I would inform you Madame that I am not the only one concerned for you. If there is no person upon this earth whom you can trust with your burden, trust someone who no longer dwells among men. 

As ever, your faithful friend,

O. G.

She swayed as though she may faint. The elegant writing had in neat little phrases smashed all that she had come to believe these past years. 

She remembered only two days before… Seeing Christine Daae, plump with health and radiating with charm she was as beautiful as ever and even more so. She was _happy_, Mme. Giry knew that was something she'd never had before, not since her father's death. The last time the lady had seen her she was thin and pale her eyes dull and lifeless. Now Christine was animated and dynamic, ten times her former self, and all this time they thought her dead. 

The only man that had seemed to know anything about it was of course Raoul. Madame and Meg had called on him repeatedly but he always refused to receive them. 

Was this always to be the way? Christine returns so the Phantom does too? He had helped her so much before, and now… She needed so badly to tell someone the whole horrible, bloody tale. Could _He _be the one entity she could trust? She couldn't tell Meg… Not yet. 

The elderly woman fluffed the pillows she had been seated on and bustled out of the box in her constantly busy manner. 

Erik; standing within the column paused in thought. Her face had been interesting in those moments of meditation after she read the note… Very interesting.

* * *

As her mother had done, Meg began to notice how much her friend had changed; she pushed on he bodice teasingly,

"Getting a wee bit hefty aren't we?" Christine glanced down for a moment then smiled,

"Perhaps it's something _else!_" Meg gasped and shook her head,

"I was only kidding!"

"I know!" Christine laughed, "Don't look at me like that!" Meg's mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound could she emit, "Oh relax you little ninny! I've just had my courses!" 

"It's just, I'm sorry it's just… Well if you were with child, it would be the _Phantom's _child!" Christine threw an arm across her eyes in a dramatic gesture of fatigue.

"Meg we've been through this! I _assure_ you, he's a flesh and blood man that I happen to be in love with, we _are _married!" 

"I know, it's just…" she sighed,

"Yes Meg we make love," she turned her palms up, "just like any other normal loving couple." Meg was blushing furiously,

"But-." 

"Poor innocent little Meg, I was like you once." She tickled her friend's chin, "Come now, what was your mother's mood this afternoon?" 

"Oh, uh… She seemed very distant and detached like she was off in another world. Why?" Christine sat back her pretty face scrunched in thought at the news,

"Erik wrote to her. She hasn't heard from him sense… But he asked her about herself, told her he was concerned for her." She paused, glancing at Meg, "he really is."

"Of course, I don't doubt." Meg looked reflective, "He was always good to mother and I."

"Well basically he let her know he was still there and she could tell him, if no one else what is troubling her."

"I think she will… She trust him not to tell anyone."

"Or not to have anyone to tell." Meg stared at her,

"Is he going to tell us?"

"No, he has a very strong sense of honor, he won't even tell me unless she asks him to." She giggled involuntarily, "Which of course she won't! Considering she _doesn't know_!" Meg had long since realized that Christine fully enjoyed her position among the people who didn't'' know her husband...personally. She had to admit she could see the infinite possibilities for amusement there… Her lips turned up in a devilish little grin at the thought,

"Christine?"

"Hmmm?"

"Will I ever get to meet the- Erik?" Christine beamed, smiling widely,

"Do you want to?" Meg shifted, embarrassed,

"Rather." Christine clapped her small hands in great pleasure. A dangerous sparkle entering her bright eyes as she planned,

"I suppose you'll want him to wear the mask." Christine said amiably enough,

"Well if-."

"Don't worry, he won't mind as long as it's only one evening." She laughed to herself at some secret jest, "After all he puts it on for _Raoul_ once every month or so!" 

"Raoul!?" Meg exclaimed.

"Oh yes, he visits me." Christine was enjoying herself far too much and her friend was speechless for a full minute.

"Dear Lord no wonder he wouldn't see us!" she ran a hand through her thick coppery curls, "He's a God-awful liar!" she turned back to her friend, "Christine! You're dead!" said deceased spit her water all over the floor halfway through a drink, laughing madly. 


	8. Remembrance and Confessions

Chapter Eight;

Remembrance and Confession

A/N: That title was un-witty, I bet you're very disappointed, ah well. For the benefit of Jess; Meg is referring to when she and her mother called on Raoul and he wouldn't see them. We're assuming he just told his servants to say Christine was dead or something to that effect. I dunno, I did that on a whim. Has anyone noticed my lack of disclaimer? I don't have one because Erik is mine! MINE!!!! Anyone who wants Raoul; he's free. Really, come and take him away. Jks.

Some time had passed idly and Meg and Christine lapsed into silence until the young dancer felt compelled to quiet her curiosity, absently interrupting Christine's thoughts,

"What exactly did happen when you found out Erik was alive? I mean, how did you find out?" Christine's gaze flickered over her friend and her eyes became distant with thought, the memory obviously still vivid in her mind.

"To explain that I have to tell you about what preceded it… When I went back to Raoul thinking Erik was dead…" she leaned forward in her chair, silently asking her friend if she should relate the tale.

"Go on." Meg said, gesturing for her to begin.

And quietly, with a great well of unspoken, untapped emotion Christine began to speak. Her voice scarcely more than a whisper as though the events were playing before her eyes in that very room and a louder narration would shatter them and scatter the pieces forever beyond reach. 

"I know what Raoul was thinking, it's almost as if now, looking back, I can see through his eyes…

__

"I'm dead inside!" Christine screamed through her tears, "And you'll never understand!"

"Christine, listen, I do-." 

"No you don't! You never will!" she collapsed into sobbing for a moment until she had rallied her fading strength again. "I don't love you, I never have." She rocked herself, hugging her knees to her chest, "I love him." She whispered over and over, quietly in an attitude of prayer. "I can't love you." She turned her tear-streaked face back to me.

"Christine, don't say that."

"But it's true!" she broke down again, not really able or willing to speak.

"He's gone Christine, and he's not going to come back. Not ever, no matter how much you think you want him too."

"Think? Think, Raoul?"

"You don't love him Christine, you can't. If he were here now you'd beg me to take you away again."

"Are you so blind?" She stood thrusting my hand off her arm violently, "You don't know what love is!" she turned away from me disgusted, "Are you even capable of love?" she muttered darkly under her breath.

"I love you." She sneered.

"You don't understand me Raoul, you haven't since we were ten years old! And if you think that loving someone is dominating them you're worse off then we thought." 

"We? You talked about me, with- with that- that monster!" she spun to face me, her eyes ablaze. I was in a dark rage then, I no longer felt like I knew Raoul's thoughts… It's queer, after he said that I, remembering, feel I don't know him at all…

__

That foppish moron enraged me more with each passing second, he was so lucky Erik wasn't… He'd long since taken his life into his own hands.

"Monster?" I repeated with unnerving calm, "This 'monster' has the most beautiful soul that God ever created."

"A soul? Him? He was filled with nothing but darkness, if he was filled with anything at all."

"Speaking of empty," I moved toward him, threat in every step, "is that not the inquiry we started with? Well? The reason I am 'detached' Raoul is the very best part of me, as you say, is gone. My soul has left me because he was my soul." Anger flashed behind his eyes.

"It's impossible, you don't love him, you can't!"

"It's remarkably easy really, and impossible is not a word to be thrown around so lightly." He snorted,

"You think you frighten me with your word games! Singing is not all he taught you I see!"

"No… He taught me love." I nodded at his look of horror, "Yes that means exactly what you think." Smiling in a thoroughly devilish manner I continued knowingly hurting him, "You see, it was the only way I could get him to believe me! You can't imagine how hard it is to prove to that man that I had finally learned what true love is. That I had finally grown up." Raoul slumped into a chair.

"He was insane Christine! You're insane!" he held his head in his hands, his curly golden locks falling over his fingers, "This isn't happening." Then I did something I never thought I'd do; I laughed, outright, at someone else's pain and anguish. "You think it's funny that I am reduced to this?" I mocked disapproval at him,

"I have reduced far greater men to far less Raoul. I am surprised at you, with all your noble dignity! No passionate plea, no last lover's request?"

"There is no need for such dramatics, you cannot go to him, there is no where for you but here with me." He single-handedly brought me full circle to my previous state of grievous shock.

I had never mourned so for anyone; my pain even over my father's death was pleasant in comparison to the excruciating torture, agony and oblivion of blackness that dwelt in my heart now. 

Sorrow would be a reigning queen over my brow for the remnants of my life, which, if God has any mercy, will not be too terribly long. How I have lived a second without my soul eludes me; life is nothing without my light, my joy, my Angel. 

"It doesn't change anything, I will still love him, and I will never share a bed with you."

"But you will marry me." I heaved a sigh, deciding this lack of feeling, being a non-entity was preferable to even attempting to live. 

"For appearances sake, but remember, there will be no love in it and I will omit that from my vow."

"But we'll still be married."

"For the sake of him you once were my friend, yes, and we will forget this rude clashing of tongues and be civil to one another. Hopefully I can still be your friend, think of me as your sister because you are my brother." He looked on me silently, a war-taking place in his demanding green eyes.

Finally, he must have decided that having me that way was better than not having me at all.

"Then I bid thee goodnight, my dear sister, for tomorrow I will begin arrangements for our wedding." I nodded as he rose to leave the room,

"Raoul?" he paused, "I'm sorry." He ascended to his room. 

The days until the wedding seemed to fly by. All too soon I was staring at my reflection in a fancy mirrored vanity, the veil I wore folded back from my face in wait for the ceremony. The gown I wore was not nearly so beautiful or so flattering as the one… I mustn't think of that, I will only weep…

Yet this tiny thing reveals to me once again that Erik understood me far more then Raoul ever could, even when we were children, he always thought I wanted frills, ruffles and lace… Wanted to be fussed over and babied. He never seemed to realize that one didn't have to be wearing one's fortune to look stunning. No simplicity is far lovelier…

My reflection looked back at me lifelessly, it was good the veil was thick; anyone who saw me would feel obligated to check for a pulse.

"I know what you meant about mirrors now." I sighed to the exceedingly empty room, drawing my heavy veil down to mask my features. "I wear a mask too, I will from this day forth, the mask of someone living over a soulless husk. I love you, my Angel, forgive me…" I hadn't noticed my hand reaching out to caress the mirror until my fingertips touched the cold surface.

The tears were already falling now, I wasn't going to fool anyone today, but I could no longer bring myself to care what they thought.

A soft knock told me that my fate was sealed; my funeral march would soon begin.

Walking down the aisle was how I used to dream it as a little girl. I was only louder in my grief when I tried to hold back my tears, so I let them flow freely until they became a crescendo of insurmountable sorrow in the silent church.

It was beautiful here, I could tell, the church was an old one, vast and lavishly decorated with stain glass and carving. Great marble pillars supporting a stone terrace, presumably for persons of high office in the church when they visited. All was lost on me as I took my place at the altar, facing Raoul but seeing nothing but a blur. And only that because of the bright afternoon sunlight flooding his face in multicoloured rays through a window depicting The Christ as Prince of Heaven, without being able to read it I knew the words painted beneath the figure; 'I am the way, the truth and the light.' Help me now Lord, when I am so badly in need of your guidance. _I thought. Seeing the image of the dove below it in my minds eye._

Had I been looking I would have seen a shadow slide down one of those elegant marble pillars from the terrace. 

In a voice so broken with sorrow it was hardly audible I made my vow,

"Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together according to God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep only unto him, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will take this man to be my husband in name only, to honor, keep, and respect him. But that is all that is my vow." There were shocked gasps issuing from every corner of the church but I cared not, I wasn't going to lie in the house of God.

The priest, clearing his throat, continued after a glare from Raoul told him that these conditions had been agreed upon.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

"God does." There being no one there to give me away, this was the only response that could be acceptable. The Priest took Raoul's hand and my right hand and caused us too join them, Raoul saying,

"I Raoul de Chagny take thee Christine Daae to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth." If I were being proper, which I wasn't, I should have repeated the same to him. As it was, I said little,

"As I Christine Daae take thee Raoul de Chagny to be my wedded husband till death do us part." I breathed out heavily as I finished, praying again for some sort of miracle to stop this madness! Then the Priest asked for the last time,

"I publish the Bans of Marriage between Christine and Raoul. If any of you know cause or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the final time of asking." 

"I do." There was the noise of every single person in the place turning in their seats to face the speaker; a tall, lean shadow standing at the end of the aisle, I closed my eyes in disbelieving ecstasy at the sound of his voice.

"What reason sir?" the priest implored,

"She cannot marry him because she's in love with me." There were now gasps of outrage at the forwardness of this impertinent intruder. He seemed amused at the reactions all around him; "Is that not so, Mademoiselle?" he asked smugly, assured of the answer.

I said nothing; I chucked my bouquet to the side and ripped my veil from my hair, hiking up my abundant skirts as I ran up the aisle. I collided with him, moaning in happiness as he lifted me up so I could kiss him.

I instantly locked my lips over his, pushing his hat off I ran my hand through his hair, loving the soft touch. He caught the hat as it tumbled down his back and plunked it on my head with a grin. Pulling him closer to me, I couldn't care in the slightest, as far as I was concerned the universe consisted of nothing but him.

After an eternity of ecstasy in the warmth of his presence he put me down and broke the kiss forcefully as I refuse to let him go.

"You're alive!" I cried embracing him, nestling my face between the folds of his cloak, wanting desperately to feel the warmth of his body against my skin, wanting to know he was real. "I could do anything now, anything you bid me do." I looked up at his glittering mismatched eyes; "I love you." My wish was granted as I felt his arms around me. I was safe and content for the first time in weeks.

"Is that a valid objection?" Raoul suddenly inquired of the priest.

"If the young lady loves the gentleman she certainly cannot make a holy bond with someone else." The young man offered helplessly.

Resting my now glowing face against the prominent muscles of Erik's chest, I turned my head to sneak a glance at the guests, their eyes were like goose eggs! I'd never seen such a stare! I'd rather regretted your not being there Meg, after all you are the one that 'introduced' me to my beloved Phantom, and I think you would have been the most shocked of them all. I can see it!

"Come now Meg! Is it really so hard to believe? Besides think of the stories you'll tell, I can hear you now; 'My best friend is married to the Phantom of the opera, himself!' Hah!" _I'd said that to Erik,_

__

"Married?" Erik asked politely, teasing me.

"That's what I said, and if you don't like it you'll have to deal with it 'cause no one's stopping me. Um, with that I will kiss thee."

"Now you must go about it neater than that, wait, else I shall remain unkissed." His eyes invited me to retaliate playfully,

"You'll not escape from me _unkissed, I promise you!" I pulled him down into my reach and put a swift end to any protest he might have made._

Erik pulled away from me, gasping for air and, catching his breath, inclined the priest,

"Father, it seems we are still in need of your services, there is going to be a wedding today!" we acted like giddy schoolchildren, almost squealing in delight later that night after our countciltation as we were pronounced man and wife. Angel and mortal, Phantom and innocent, teacher and pupil, most importantly; love and beauty.

Raoul had approached his brother with a sigh; bidding him to tell his betrothed that the wedding was back on again and in a month. But think not on him, think of me, whole again and happy." 

Meg sat back in her chair, a contemplative look on her face amid an outraged sort of smile,

"My God Christine! That is the most romantic thing I've ever heard! …Honestly." She started suddenly, "Can I meet him now?"

"I rather think that I should discuss it with him first." Christine replied with a hint of laughter on her voice,

"Will he say no?" Meg asked, nervous,

"Oh nothing like that, I just think he ought to know we're coming! Really Meg, your manners have gotten appalling these years I've been away." Meg glanced up at her, a grin splitting her face,

"You haven't been away!"

"Touché." 

* * * 

Late that night Mme Giry sat writing a letter by the dim light of a single candle, not wanting to rouse her daughter and have to explain herself. Even as she wrote it, she questioned every word and what it gave away. 

"I hope I make the right decision…" she rubbed her temples, laying down the pen to rest her sore hand. Still, it felt good to tell someone, even if she ended up burning this letter, it felt good.

* * *

"Hurry up Meg!" Christine called gaily as the pair ran through the labyrinthine passages beneath the opera. 


	9. Meg the lucky little poo Meets Erik almo

Chapter Nine

Meg (the lucky little poo) Meets Erik

"Hurry up Meg!" Christine called gaily as the pair ran through the labyrinthine passages beneath the opera.

"You're going to fall and kill yourself!" Meg yelled back trying not to trip over her own feet in the darkness.

"No I'm not, no I'm not!" Christine retorted childishly, "We're here! Oomph!" Meg ran straight into her and they both tottered precariously for a minute before catching themselves. Christine fixed Meg with a glare, a smile tugging at her lips, "We _are_ near the lake Meg." 

"Sorry."

"Harumph! Now where's that boat?" pottering up and down the shore bent over like a hunchback she finally gave a cry of 'Eureka!' and presented the boat proudly. Meg eyed it,

"Who's going to paddle?"

"I'll pole it, we don't have oars; they make too much noise."

"Not as much as the two of you."

"Hello Nadir." He bowed, brushing the back of her gloved hand against his lips,

"Bon Soir Madame." Christine smiled then turned Nadir to face Meg, motioning for the latter to step forward as she did so.

"Nadir, this is my best friend Meg Giry. Meg, this is Nadir; a very old friend of Erik's." Nadir bowed again and Meg curtsied, glancing sideways at Christine.

"I would like to tell you Mademoiselle that your friend greatly exaggerates, I am not _that_ old." Christine elbowed him,

"Are you here to see Erik then?" she asked seriously,

"No, I've lost something down here and I'd rather like to find it again before your husband does." His tone made her raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Why?"

"That Madame, is my little secret." She shook her head at him and gestured for Meg to get into the boat. 

"Until tomorrow Nadir."

"Goodbye Christine." Settling herself Christine began to pole the boat away from the shore. Meg peered into the blackness but could see nothing; she could however sense the water's moistness in the air and hear it lapping at the boat as they glided through it.

"Is he expecting us?" she asked nervously,

"I told him we'd come sometime today and he mumbled about how I could never maintain a punctual schedule." She giggled quietly at the memory.

"You never told me about Nadir… "

"Yes I did." 

"I mean that you still saw him! I nearly jumped into the lake out of fear when he spoke, I thought he might be a cellar worker or something!" Christine shook her head, grinning at her friend,

"The cellar workers never come this far, they have no reason to." A few still moments passed the silence only broken by the 'dip' of the water when Christine lowered the pole into it.

"What's your favorite song Christine?" Meg trailed her fingers in the cold water absently waiting for a response, Christine, surprised by the abrupt question stopped to consider it for a minute before answering.

"It's difficult to select a favorite when you live with a genius composer who writes something newly fantastic every day…But I would have to say 'Something's Here'."

"I don't know it." Meg observed sitting up with interest,

"No, you wouldn't." Christine laughed, "No one has ever heard it…"

"What do you mean, obviously you have." Meg saw the sparkling of Christine's eyes in the gloom, glittering like stars in a stormy sky,

"Well, no one besides… The morning after my wedding I woke up alone in my marriage bed, I threw on a robe; it wasn't even mine if I remember clearly, for the sake of warmth. When I wandered out I heard Erik playing the piano softly…The tune was so beautiful, it was like…Like that feeling I get whenever I see him, that bursting euphoric happiness, that in gentle sound." She paused for a moment, her thoughts far away, "But that was nothing, oh Meg, when he sang to it I thought my heart would burst."

"Tell me, what did he sing?" Meg asked, intrigued and worried she would not go on.

"He sang, so sweetly, so lovingly;

__

Something's here

Something sweet and dear and unrefined!

Something you will always find is there, a part of you and I

Right here, deeply in my heart; right there, a piece of my soul…

You see I love you.

You know I always will.

That something I always feared,

Do you feel me?

Do you see me tremble?

I've wanted this though it frightens me.

I never dared to hope you see,

Never dreamed of you and me.

Now you're here and loving true,

Just as much as I love you.

Is it apparent on my face?

I've never looked on you without that telltale message in my eye.

I wonder if you always knew what it said…

I wonder how soon my love was read…

I walked up behind him as he sang this, and leaning over him to look at the music I saw it was a duet, sight-reading it I took my cue;

**__**

I never knew,

I never guessed,

That you may return what I'd repressed.

I never thought,

I never hoped,

That you may love me too.

She didn't know!

How could she not have seen!

Then we sang in counter point, our voices entwining more beautifully then ever before…I think I know why…

**__**

How could I have seen when I was blinded by follow?

How could I let my defenses fall!

I was too afraid!

So afraid?

I hardly imagine!

****

So afraid!

I surprise you!

Our voices met in a line,

__

How could you not see my passion!

****

How could I let loose my passion!

****

I feared!

You were endeared!

Reaching a soaring crescendo of emotion so perfectly transcribed in sound,

**__**

Know I love you!

Know what I never said!

I know I love you!

I know what was left unsaid!

****

Say what you will of us world!

And finally together,

__

We know what love is,

I know I love you!

Then in no more then whispers of song,

__

Always love me…

As I love you."

Silence reigned on the lake for a passing moment until Meg was jostled by the boat hitting the opposite shore,

"Here we are!" Christine exclaimed cheerfully. She produced a key (of sorts) and worked the complicated mechanism of the hidden door of the house that Erik had painstakingly taught her how to operate. 


	10. Meg Really Does Meet Erik We're Hoping A

Chapter Ten: 

Meg Really Does Meet Erik 

(We're Hoping Anyway)

The heavy door swung back to reveal the dimly lit sitting room of the underground house. Several candles still burned, the wicks barely protruding from puddles of wax. Christine stepped in confidently, no longer even slightly perturbed by anything in the house; darkness had long since become a trusted friend of Erik's wife. 

"Erik? Are you here darling?" she shouted cheerfully. Turning back to find Meg still standing nervously on the threshold, "Come on Meg! It's bloody cold out there!" Meg walked in tentatively, surprised to find it pleasantly warm and lavishly decorated, comparing to her own home: luxurious. 

"It's beautiful Christine, really beautiful." She spun in circles, looking about her wonderingly.

"It is. I thought so too the first time I found myself here… Which is really the best phrase to describe it. Meg snickered lightly,

"So, he's not here?"

"It doesn't appear so; but with Erik that's a rather good sign to the contrary." She leaned over the hearth, the smoldering coals gleaming with a warm red heat. The glow played across her features and made her face ruddy as she lit a long slender wooden stick, with which she could light the lamps. 

Cradling the small flame with her hand she scuttled about the room lighting the glass domed oil lamps, finishing she tossed the stick into the fire along with a few faggots to bring the flames to life from their sleep.

"He should be here…" Christine muttered anxiously, hugging herself with a nervous shiver. Meg eyed her,

"If _you're_ nervous _I_ should run about in sheer terror." 

"I'm sure it's nothing… Perhaps he-" And without any decent warning; there he was. Christine let out a cry of relief and stood with a wide grin splitting her face. 

Meg just stared, not at all upholding a lady's grace. One moment they had been talking alone, and the next, there he stood in the middle of the room without so much as a sound to reveal his prior presence. She took him in in stages, not seeing any other way to cope with him.

He was an overpowering presence, tall and imposing. Quite possibly, the most intimidating person she had ever met, just as much mentally as physically if Christine was to be believed. 

A long swirling, flowing black cloak poured over his broad shoulders and down his back, accentuating his perfect posture. The velvet of the cloak masking his figure so much as white cloth masked his face. His eyes were on her, piercing her and seeing her thoughts as easily as if they were written upon her face. Meg took a few shallow breaths as she looked at him, seeing that the lines of his features beneath the mask were strikingly handsome.

The cascade of black stirred and glided over his arm as he extended a hand, a gloved hand, but that could not conceal its beauty and exquisiteness. The fingers were long and slender, easily deft at any task, moving with and unfurling motion submersed in grace and laced with elegance.

Meg stuttered to no effect at this gesture of acknowledgement until Christine rescued her from her moment of struggling,

"Meg, this is my esteemed husband Erik: the Phantom of the Opera. Erik you already know Meg." He smiled with a rather devious glint sparking in his eye, still keeping his gaze trained on Meg. The look was barely caught as he swept down into a magnificent bow with a flourish of his hand, taking off his hat as he did so. Once the hat that overshadowed his features quite effectively was off he did not replace it, but set it down. In the absence of the hat, several wisps of his thick hair slid down into his face, silky and shimmering black it hung just below the bottoms of his eyes and in back, Meg could see he also had a little (unbraided) pigtail. 

The cloak, however, peculiarly remained. It stayed in place for the most part; he tossed the left side over his shoulder, but kept the right rigidly taunt against his body.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked with confusion, obviously perturbed. 

"Nothing my dear, why?" he replied silkily, almost coaxing with the auditory caress that was his voice. Such a voice! Meg's mind couldn't process anymore wonders! It hurt her; the beauty of it overloading her already preoccupied senses. She could not have told you why, if you could have asked her, but she began to cry. Christine was not distracted,

"Your cloak. You never wear it inside, especially in a lady's company." She crossed her slim arms, glaring at him expectantly,

"My dear, we are both displaying appalling manners, we do have a guest, do we not?" she was undaunted,

"Meg will forgive us I'm sure. Now, what are you hiding from me?" he sighed, one of those wonderful hands reaching up to pull out the knot that held his cloak in place.

It slid to the floor in a waterfall of black velvet and fell in an unlovely heap. Revealed, was a fine white shirt with billowing sleeves, now stained a dark red by a fluid as thick as pudding oozing along the fibers in the fabric.

"Erik!" Christine gasped, her hand flying to her throat as she stepped back in astonishment. He sighed again, obviously hating himself for causing her pain,

"A group of vagabonds were attempting to rob a beggar and child. I…there were twelve of them, but I do not think it is my blood."

"You don't think?" Christine asked wiping at a tear that rolled down her cheek as she bent to examine him. "Can you not feel anything?" she asked miserably. Not waiting for an answer, she sought to assure herself of his well being by her own means. 

"Christine!"

"You're hurt, Meg knows that, don't you Meg?" she spared a glance at her friend for the first time since Erik came home. Meg had recovered from initial shock and nodded, Christine turned back to unbuttoning his shirt with a 'so there' look on her face.

"I must apologize Mademoiselle," Erik began helplessly,

"No Monsieur, I quite understand." She took a deep shuddering breath, "Perhaps I can help?"

"Wait until I see if he's bleeding, then I can tell you what's what." Christine muttered, peeling the soiled linen away from his skin where it clung viva the blood. Erik never spoke a word of protest or uttered a whimper as a gaping hole was revealed in his side. 

Christine cried out almost as if she were in pain herself at the sight, then leaned closer to survey the gash with more care, finally she let out a sigh of relief.

"It only looks serious!" she pulled the shirt off his back and used it to mop at the blood still seeping from the wound. Meg covered her own gasp by motioning toward the brilliant red vaguely. 

In actual truth, she had never seen a man before without the three or four layers of clothing that society required. Of course she wouldn't have, she was unmarried after all. She snuck another glance at him; Lord he was beautiful, and most impressive. I will tell you in confidence that Meg was quite justly awed, Erik was a fine figure of a man that the ancient sculptors would have wept to behold. Christine was a lucky woman, and she definitely knew it.

She chose that particular moment to call Meg over and bade her make certain that Erik stayed put while she prepared a bandage. He grinned lopsidedly,

"I'm crushed you do not trust me alone."

"I know you too well." She squeezed his hand and left the room quickly. Meg stood shyly on the other side of the room opposite him, not knowing what she ought to do or say. She observed rather abruptly that Erik was looking at her with a compassionate smile. 

"How goes dancing Mademoiselle?" he asked, she started at the sudden question but silently blessed him for it with her eyes,

"Very well Monsieur, for which I have largely you to thank. My gratitude Monsieur." He waved away her thanks dismissively,

"I merely enjoy the success of the talented." Meg smiled,

"A fine taste that has won you a wife." He seemed reflective,

"I never considered it, I was really drawn to her, for it seemed such a heinous _waste_!" he muttered darkly, "There is nothing so terrible as waste Mademoiselle Giry, it is an _ugly _thing." She nodded, seeing 'ugly' as the horrific expletive that his voice made it.

"Christine never could have been what she is without your help."

"My teachings Mademoiselle." Meg shook her head to indicate she had been right the first time.

"You did far more for her than teach her to sing Monsieur, _far more_." She paused, "I'm her best friend, really her only friend and she has confided in me very much. I think there is little I do not know." Erik laughed; wincing slightly as a jolt of pain reminded him of the gash in his side.

"You assume too much, I know what Christine has told you and there is a great deal more to it then that." He paused in thought, contemplating the situation. "Perhaps some day I will tell you more…" a lifetime of distrust and wariness is not easily disregarded and cast aside to be forgotten. Meg would have to earn Erik's trust; he was not capable of giving it freely.

Now that Christine had time to think whilst she hunted around for material to make a bandage she reviewed that she was rather impressed with her husband's behavior thus far. It would be nice to have some one to invite over other than Nadir, not to degrade that particular gentleman. 

She loved him dearly, but there was no substitute for a good girlfriend to chatter with. Besides, she couldn't talk about Erik to Nadir, not in the manner she wished to. (Having been through a great deal of high points of her life with no one to talk to she was bursting with things to say.) Erik had been remarkably accepting of Meg and Christine took it as an excellent sign.

"I've returned!" Christine exclaimed triumphantly, entering the formally quiet sitting room. Meg jumped, Erik, (evidently) had heard her coming. Christine crossed the room and began to wrap a neat bandage around Erik's middle while he lifted his arms for her and rolled his eyes at Meg.

"I saw that darling." She murmured in a faux polite tone.

"As was my intent." He retorted. She giggled and poked him just as she finished with the bandage. "I had best clothe myself, and for that I am afraid, I shall require your assistance my dear." She nodded as though she'd deduced as much and walked over to Meg.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, I know it's terrifically rude but we must leave on your own for a moment." Meg smiled,

"It's quite alright, I should like a moment to collect myself at any rate… I've had a great deal of excitement."

"Charmed Mademoiselle!" Erik laughed just before he disappeared into his (and Christine's) bed room. Christine shortly followed him with an apologetic smile. 

What seemed to Meg an eternity later she grew restless and wandered toward the semi-closed door, opening her mouth to speak and rapidly shutting it again when she caught sight of them in the midst of an embrace.

Christine and Erik were kissing frantically with a ravenous hunger and deeply passionate need, it was beautiful thing to behold (especially if you knew either of them at all): they complimenting each other in an ineffably elegant dance. In a time when it was considered vulgar and scandalous for a married man to kiss his wife when outside of closed doors even in the briefest brushing of lips to cheek, Meg had never seen a couple hug, much less devour each other's mouths and bodies with lips and hands. 

It seemed to her that they looked different in each other's arms; Erik looked younger and innocent, strangely unsure while Christine appeared more greatly mature and more beautiful. It were as though in this one instance she was the teacher and he was the pupil, Meg couldn't help but notice (if that were so) he certainly excelled and soared under her guidance.

It was very like a dance, Meg thought absently, watching Christine's hand splay over her husband's shoulder blades caressingly. Ending it with a few more quick little kisses Erik smiled at her.

"We forget ourselves, my love."

"It's just so easy to do!" she protested playfully, "I must get you some dark glasses."

"Whatever for!" he exclaimed with a laugh,

"To keep me from getting lost in your eyes when we have guests. Oh stop laughing!" he tried, but failed most abysmally.

"Sorry." I myself can most definitely see her point. His eyes were like nothing else. One was a pretty, genuinely innocent and caring blue; the colour itself as the morning sky on Midsummer's day, extremely pale but clear. The other was silver, silver not gray; and this eye was everything that he was (or appeared to be) to strangers: mysterious, piercing, unusual, sensual, astoundingly intelligent and aware and oh so very sexy. 

"You're so beautiful." Christine murmured wistfully after a moment of silence, resting her head in the hollow of his chest.

"Christine…"

"It doesn't matter though, don't think that it matters because it is here," she put her hand in the crook of his arm, squeezing the thick muscle, "that you protect me." Her hand moved to rest lightly on his throat, "And it is here that you entrance me," she held his head in her hands lovingly, "here that you astound and baffle me." Finally, she lay her hand flat against his chest where she could feel his heart beat through the clean shirt and vest he now wore. "But it will always be here that I love you." having watched her through this he bent and kissed her again wordlessly, though this time managing to maintain control.

"I think you will do me in one day with loving you too much." He said, kissing her again on the forehead once before gesturing for her to precede him out of the room. Meg scurried over to the sofa and tried to appear busy at twiddling her thumbs. 

"We apologize again Mademoiselle."

"Not at all." Erik escorted Christine over to the couch and left with the excuse that he would prepare some tea, completely ignoring Christine's protests that he ought to rest.

"Well?" Christine asked excitedly, taking Meg's hand on the sofa,

"Well what?" 

"What do you think of him?" Meg hesitated to answer,

"How does my humble opinion matter at all, I rather missed the courting stage."

"Not really, you were there the whole time, and I did sort of tell you about him…" she caught up to herself and shook her head to clear it of speculation about the painful past, "Meg." She said levelly with slight irritation, "You're my friend and I'd like to know how you get on with my husband." The little dancer sighed, looking around helplessly for an escape route and, not seeing one, decided to face the music and be blatantly honest,

"He's wonderful Christine, absolutely extraordinary, more so then you said. I felt like I was dying when he spoke to me, that voice! And so blessed good looking, oh yes I know about the mask but…" Christine laughed delightedly at Meg's sudden outpouring of reaction, wishing she'd been able to express her feelings when she met her 'Angel'. 

"Lord Christine, I don't know what I was expecting but it doesn't compare to reality."

"That isn't even the half of it, you must hear him sing and play." She got a look in her eyes that were perfectly malevolent, "You must hear one of his songs, you'll never hear anything the same way again, everything will be music! Oh Meg, he can make you feel _anything_."

"I await the moment with anticipation, dear ladies." Erik interjected from the doorway, bearing a tray of tea things. Both women giggled inanely for a moment as he set the tray down and took up a seat in the large chair opposite the sofa. 

"Tell us a story darling." Christine said, coming over to kneel at his feet. 

"I thought I was to sing." He countered jovially, tweaking her chin in a foolish manner to make her laugh,

"Not just yet." She lay down her trump card with the expected giggle and batted her eyelashes at him, making a gesture with her hand that told him something Meg did not understand. He complied just as Christine wanted and Meg found that when she listened to him telling it, it was like the story came alive in that very room.

She saw in the tongues of fire licking at a cedar log the figure of the ancient king of which he spoke, the flames forming his proud and rigid face with its sharply angular nose and hawkish eyes while the others crackled enviously at having no such purpose.

"Here sits the king eternal, watchful always.

Forever: unseeing eyes look upon their kingdom,

See not the people changing.

But living beyond his life,

For all time eternal, here sits the great king."

And so the tale ended, Erik supplying that the verse was really about a king of ancient Egypt's enormous statue hewn from stone. While he was speaking, the room had seemed empty, vast and cold, full of the conniving whispers of rulers and peoples long dead. Meg could have sworn to you that for a brief, fleeting fragment of time she and the chanted words, even as they fell from Erik's lips were transported to the stone temples, sands and solitude of Egypt. 

Now it was a comfortable and welcoming sitting room once again with a great menacing pipe organ on one wall and a merry fire in the hearth. The spell of the story left them in silence for a moment,

"My dear, Mademoiselle, you are both required upstairs for rehearsal in a quarter hour." Meg jumped,

"I completely forgot! My thanks again Monsieur, come on Christine!" she rushed toward the door then, turning to see Christine just sitting and looking up at her husband with a look of amusement rushed back and pulled vehemently on her friend's hand, "Come along!" Christine sighed, but finally stood.

She bent over her husband, still seated in his chair, and kissed him on the forehead at his hairline where the mask ended. This being done in an acute display of her thoughts on society's view of public affection. 

"Goodbye my love, be at home tonight." She whispered, he stood and saw them to the door, opening it saying,

"Fare well Mademoiselle Giry, until tonight darling." The moment the door clicked shut, (Or rather slammed with a vastly echoing thud, being made of an enormous slab of stone.) Meg hurried Christine into the boat and wouldn't allow her any peace until she had been thoroughly convinced that no amount of nagging would make the boat go any faster.

At which time she decided instead to attack the poor phantomess with a array of questions that had been on her mind now that she had a minute to collect her thoughts. When most of the trivial tedious ones were appeased, she grew quiet and thoughtful; they were already across the lake at this point and making their careful way through the labyrinthine passages beyond.

"Christine, what is it like to kiss a man?"

"As opposed to kissing a woman?" Meg would have elbowed her if she didn't fear knocking the candle out of her hand,

"Grr." Christine laughed,

"Simply wonderful, it's like… I can't really begin to fathom something that even compares… I suppose it's a lot like flying and being under water at the same time. You understand?"

No… Christine?" the singer rubbed her temple and let out a heavy sigh, Meg could be very childish when she wanted to ask an embarrassing question,

"Yes Meg?"

"Isn't it usual for men to have hair upon their breast?" Christine giggled and cast a surveying glance at her friend over her shoulder in an attitude of slyness,

"I suppose, why?" 

"Well…you see…that is what I had always heard, the ballet girls you see and well…_Erik didn't_." Christine giggled again, lifting her candle to better light the way as she turned another corner,

"No, he hasn't any," she shrugged, "I haven't the faintest idea why, but I am glad he hasn't."

"Oh…I was confused you see, I've never seen one before…"

"I know Meg, and you may ask anything you like, I'm only silly." The sole response to this was a grunt and she couldn't help laughing all over again.

"I never did get to hear him sing." Meg added some time later,

"Next time."

"Next time?" Christine nodded, brandishing an enormous grin,

"I will make quite certain of a next time." 

A/N: Yay! The long awaited chapter ten is finally complete! It was in production a long time and then with the technical difficulties during filming, not to mention keeping Erik and Christine off each other between takes… There was a hefty bit of symbolism concerning Erik's physical person, a free bucket of cyber-cookies to anyone who knows what it is and what it means. Oh yeah, for much better poems by moi, particularly better then the song in chapter nine, go read "The Notes". (No one's reading it! *Cries* It's CATS fiction though…I thought it was purtty nifty!) And, am I losing readers? Or are they just not reviewing? Please let me know what you think of the new chapters! Glomps to those who have reviewed, are reviewing and ever will review!!!!


	11. The time has come the Trinity said, To t

Chapter 11:

The Many Dangers of a Willow Branch

A/N: **Evil snickering**, Jenny this is for you! This chapter is rated R for later content…I would say that you need to be a consenting adult to read it, but considering it's being written by a 14 year old that would sound a tad goofish. Just use common sense people, if…uh…love offends you, skip that part and be mature, it is less than half as graphic, (and long) as my usual love scenes simply because of the context. If this is all right and ALL of you think so, I may feel free to use this kind of situation, if I get angry reviews there will still be suggestiveness. Hey I'm writing one of the most passionate, turbulent and powerful loves of all time and despite my silliness, I have to respect that. 

For future reference: A willow is a symbol of sexual love, resilience, immortality, strength, compassion and grace.

Madame Giry slipped between the heavy curtains of Box five again; the letter she held against her withered breast was not honest to the weight that she carried on her weakening shoulders. It had been a long decision, but she decided she couldn't even tell a ghost what had happened. Suppose he really was a man as the managers said? She couldn't end up in jail with Meg thrown on the street; she wouldn't let that happen.

The nervous box keeper had laid her letter on the rail where she found the Phantom's, but as she turned to leave she saw a rolled piece of paper on the lavishly cushioned chair nearest the marble column. Mme Giry looked at it with dread. She knew all too well that it would take little to sway her precariously wavering choice to lie, she was a woman of honor; lies did not become her. 

Picking it up she recognized the same seal and her own name carefully inscribed in a perfectly straight line. She cracked the seal, the small noise of which startled her. _I have every right to be here, _she told herself, _no need to be afraid. _

When she unrolled the paper, she saw it was an exquisitely crafted line drawing in black and gold ink. It was the figure of a woman; a strong woman who had a diaphanous robe draped across one shoulder to barely conceal her other wise naked form.  
  
In her right hand, at the end of an extended, powerful looking arm, she held a wreath of laurel. In her left, she held, cradled against her body, a golden disk. Her face was beautiful but hard as though she was a fiercely intelligent warrior, her eyes were closed and she held her head to the side. Flowing over her head and down her back was her long cascading hair, disturbed as though by wind.

And beneath her, in the Phantom's handwriting, were the words:

__

The Lady Truth.

Mme. Giry gasped at this, certain that he knew she had planned to lie to him. Something that she obviously couldn't do now, this message was clear. The personification of truth was a strong woman because in truth there is great strength. Hang it all! She would tell him, if the truth condemned her; so be it, she would not have committed the crime of falsehood. The hasty decision was mainly due to her own guilty conscience, Erik knew she would need little persuasion.

The noise of her heavy skirts followed her as she rushed off down the corridor. Standing in the column, Erik smiled.

"A good woman." He murmured to himself of the loyal Madame Giry, reading easily into her behavior.

* * *

Christine and Meg flew out of the rehearsal room like schoolchildren off for summer the second they were dismissed. Christine spinning pirouettes and singing to herself as they made their way down the corridor. Suddenly she seemed to have an idea,

"Do you like trees Meg?" she asked playfully without any explanation of the question,

"I, I suppose." Meg stuttered, "Why on earth do you ask?"

"No reason, want to come to the park with me?" much to Meg's surprise they burst out of the outer doors of the opera into the street. Christine had led her there without a word.

It had been raining and was still a little cold out of doors, the air was thick with moisture and smelled metallic along with the odor of filth and wet horses. Still, the sky was blue-gray and only a little overcast and the day was fine for travelling.

"Come on!" Christine hailed a passing cab and pulled Meg into the dim, gloomy interior, "To the Bois de Boulogne!" she shouted merrily to the driver, "And step on it!"

The smell of the park was strong with earth; the freshly fallen rain combining with the mossy bark of trees formed a clean and pleasant odor. The hedges were overshadowed with giant popular tress and oaks; the river was shrouded in the somber branches of a willow. It was the willow Christine seemed to favor, grinning at it as though the tree shared a secret with her. She flopped onto the grassy mound that grew at the base of the tree,

"Christine!" Meg cried, "Your lovely dress!" the singer laughed, her eyes sparkling in mirth,

"I've dresses enough!" she gestured for Meg to join her, and she crouched with reluctance, "Do you know why the willow weeps?" Christine asked in a mischievous tone of voice. 

"What?" Meg queried, confused. Obviously being a girl of very little imagination where such things were concerned, not at all like her self of three years before who told the best and most gruesome stories about the infamous Phantom. One might say she was shaken to the point of losing her touch, but I don't believe it for a second.

"It is said that there were willows by the rivers of Babylon where the Hebrews wept in remembrance of Zion and these trees, the weeping willows, have mourned err since." Meg regarded her friend, a curious expression crossing her face, "What?" Christine chided, nudging her,

"You." Meg muttered, "You've grown into so much more then what you were… And I am just the same." Christine extended a hand, palm upwards,

"No one can stay the same forever, we're always learning… always growing. I have just been fortunate enough to bask in the light of history's brightest sun, fueling my expansion so it blossoms as it never would have done." She sighed, inspecting her own palm as it hovered between them, she'd meant it to show Meg they were still the same…only in different ways then before. "In my heart I will always be the same… No matter what happens and how I learn and grow, I will always be Christine and I will always treasure you as my friend and I will always love Erik." 

They passed a few moments in silence, listening to the soft song of the wind as it rustled the willow branches, making odd ripples on the surface of the water. Suddenly Christine rose and started gathering willow twigs from where they hung within her reach.

"What are you doing?" Meg asked expectant of some sort of cocky, coy response.

"Picking willow." 

"Well I can see that! Why?" the little dancer was half irritated half amused,

"To give to Erik." Christine replied simply as though it were the most natural thing in the world, Meg being the outrageous one for needing to ask,

"Why?" Meg repeated, exasperated.

"As a message." She jumped to catch at a snaky vine just above her hand, "Don't you know what willow means?" she asked sticking her tongue out in concentration as she made another try at the elusive tendril. 

"No."

"Oh, that's too bad." Christine continued to leap about as though she belonged in an asylum for the very batty while being as maddeningly coy as possible.

"So…" Meg prompted, "Why are you giving it to Erik?"

"Because _he…_ knows what it means!" Christine announced cheekily with a wink. She pulled a long white ribbon from her hair to fasten the willow into a neat sprig. Her coca curls tumbled over her shoulders and covered the pale skin of her back in its thick blanket.

"You're impossible." Meg huffed, well perhaps not exactly huffed…so much as snorted and tried to keep a straight face,

"You haven't even asked me what it means." Christine countered amiably pointing out the flaw as she set the bundle carefully into her hat beside her on the ground.

"Fine! What does it mean!" she submitted wearily, not very optimistic of an answer,

"Something nice." Meg groaned and threw her hands up in despair: Christine giggled.

This was among her favorite places in the whole world, in a time that seemed so long ago now Erik had brought her here to think; he wanted her to be absolutely certain of her decision to live with him underground. When he had offered to take her to England and begin completely anew, she'd been full of mixed feelings.

As Christine sat beneath the very willow she sat under now with Meg, contemplating that choice she remembered the turning point of her relationship with Erik: The night she returned to him after the disaster of Raoul and the torture chamber.

It was Nadir that greeted her at the door, his face thinning with exhaustion and deathly somber,

__

"He is dying." The Persian said simply. Christine sucked in a deep breath as though he had just struck her a blow to the stomach, closing her eyes on the pain and pangs of guilt, both of which jabbed at her heart. Finally, she nodded,

"He told me… I… Where is he?" Nadir seemed to measure her with his solemn stony gaze,

"Your chamber Mademoiselle, he allowed me to help him there… Don't make his last moments any more miserable than they obviously already are. He would never forgive me if he knew of what I am saying…I trust you know he loves you a great deal and would go to any lengths for your happiness, but I_ have no intention of letting you cause any more pain." She didn't bother to rebuke him for thinking she would; she deserved his coldness._

Christine moved through the house to the doorway of her bedroom, she paused at the already slightly open door to steady herself and then pushed it open. Expecting to see Erik on the bed she was surprised to find it empty, the bedclothes stirred by recent occupation. She walked into the room and fingered the sheets absently in her gloved hand, remembering her time here and feeling the warmth that was still in them from the current tenant of the room.

There was a crash of something falling from the vanity behind her; startled, she whiled around to face the opposite wall, leaning against the bed in an almost defensive manner. Erik stood there, breathing heavily and leaning a great deal on the vanity table as though he lacked the strength to stand.

His chest was bare and he seemed to have just donned the mask, extremely hastily with unusually clumsy fingers at that. Christine's eyes widened considerably and her hand flew to her throat, to see him like this was almost too much for her, especially now. It was the mask: that cursed mask that saved her from fainting away; the sight of it made her temper boil but she, recovering, paid no heed to the ugly emotion. 

Christine took a cautious step toward him, she could have drowned in his eyes and rather thought she would as they regarded her with an ineffable sorrow and told her he had no more strength; whatever she had come to say, he would accept. Christine, however, did not say anything.

When she stood barely a centimeter away from him her small hand groped uncertainly toward him in the darkness, finally tracing a finger tip from his naval up his chest. He watched this intently, marveling at her light touch, he shivered and returned his gaze to her eyes. The fingertip swooped up to his jaw and ran along the prominent bone, stopping at his chin where it pulled him toward her upturned lips.

Erik pressed his own lips against hers uncertainly; he was trembling. Her arms came around him suddenly and a gentle pressure at his neck deepened the kiss. Finally, nervously, he held Christine with his right arm, his left still supporting his heavy weight lest his body should give way beneath him.

The embrace went on and on, the lovers tasting each other's mouths tentatively, they were both innocents and that made for a deliciously shy gentility which was irreplaceable. The kiss seemed to come to its natural end and Christine smiled tiredly while her fingers fiddled with Erik's hair. He just watched her face, hardly daring to believe she was really there, she caressed his cheek and even through the mask, the action made him shiver again. Thinking it was the cold Christine rubbed his shoulders for warmth briefly, then she stepped back before turning to cross the room and open the door.

A moment later Nadir stood nearly silhouetted in the doorway, Christine retreated to the semi-darkness of the shadows and Erik's side,

"Monsieur, I ask you to be my witness before God, our witness…" she removed the mask easily as Erik was leaning to almost half his great height and handed it to Nadir, though her gaze remained fixed upon Erik, "I love you." She whispered with quiet determination, "And we haven't been two since the first day you spoke to me. I am your wife if you will be my husband." For once in his life, Erik seemed at a complete loss for words. 

She didn't give him much chance to fret about it though, kissing him all over his naked face, not caring one wit for that except to be glad. As her lips covered his again he straightened and moved away from the vanity, Christine feared the stability of his own legs and tried to guide him to the bed before he fell. She needn't have worried; he seemed to take strength in her arms and stood to his full height, lifting her off her feet as he did so. 

He let her slip back to the ground and one of his hands pulled out the laces that bound the bodice of her dress, she heard the door click completely shut and knew that Nadir, curiosity satisfied, was no longer with them. In doubt of themselves, Erik's hands buried themselves in her hair and forsook the fastenings. She reached up and pulled his hands free again, guiding them down to rest on her full breasts. He stared at her outright, seeking some form of conformation, her breathing came in short rapid rasps and her voice was reluctant to operate,

"Make love to me Erik." She finally whispered, he took a shaky step back from her in utter astonishment,

"You…you want me?" he stuttered, not even caring to know how she had learnt about the art of love since the night she left, she had been ignorant and innocent enough then.

"I didn't know what I was feeling before, my… It was never spoken of, but yes I… This is how I love you, not like a friend or father or even as a guardian angel, I love you as my lover. It's different then…" he nodded as though he understood, then looked anxious,

"For all my knowledge… I am just as innocent as you." Christine actually appeared greatly surprised by this, "I do not even know how I knew I loved you…I only did." His eyes searched hers then rested on the floor. "Even if had ever found someone… How could I take the risk of creating a child in my own image? Deformities are not hereditary…I shouldn't be afraid, it isn't logical." 

Christine pulled at her constricting bodice and drew close to him again, letting her hands rove over his bare skin before she pulled his face down to hers again, before their lips met she whispered,

"You don't have to be afraid anymore, no matter what happens in the world I will love you and I can think of no greater honor then to bare your child..." she kissed him once, "Any child of yours will be beautiful."

"You are stronger then me, brave love."

"I am only brave to show you that you're beautiful, and that I will always, unconditionally love you." She kissed him again, "I know it is hard to forget, but you must or you will never be free." He nodded, she said no more and took his lips again. Erik slipped his tongue into her mouth as she had done to him that first time their lips had met. Christine allowed him to take control and experiment with this still new sensation, besides simply liking the movement of their tongues together in the hot and moist den of their joined mouths.

Erik's cool fingertips touched her back as they slipped in and out between the loosened laces of her bodice. She understood why when the garment began to feel slack across her breast and sides, Christine pushed the sleeves of the dress itself off her shoulders and pulled her arms out of them.

They parted for a moment, both breathing heavily; Christine looked up at Erik questioningly, he returned the gaze, his eyes almost curious. His slim, strong and infinitely beautiful hands caressed the smooth skin of her bare shoulders before pushing her dress down and exposing her to his eyes and touch, she pushed the dress down the rest of the way herself. Now clothed in only her petticoats, she kicked the pile of fabric at her feet aside, sliding her hands up Erik's chest as he kissed her neck and shoulder and savoring the feeling of his muscles beneath her palms. 

Leaning back to look at her, his own fingertips ran down her collar bone then between her breasts, a light sensual touch that made her shiver. Erik pulled her close again and put his arms around her, Christine thrilling in the amazing sensation of his naked flesh against hers, a thousand tiny electric bolts running familiarly from him to her. She found herself staring up at him, at his beautiful face,

"Kiss me…" She whispered, raising a hand to finger a wisp of his hair that fell in his eyes, "Erik…I only want to love you." For a brief moment his eyes glittered like twin stars in the darkness then she was smothered by kisses and she gasped slightly when she felt his hand cup her breast,

"I never…thought…this day would come… Never even hoped…God I love you…sweet Christine." He managed distractedly between kisses. Christine, again and still fearing his strength would give out tried to lead him to the bed, but he never gave her the chance. Sweeping her into his arms as easily as ever and laying her out on the bed before arranging himself over her, kissing her neck and shoulders then her lips again with more aggressive passion,

"As long as I live…" she began, "I'll remember this night…and love you."

"Christine?" Meg's voice seemed to drift across infinity and her friend's rather pleasant dream within a dream was rudely interrupted. 

Continued, just wanted to get something up sooner, more in an hour tops. (Unless it decides not to show up until tomorrow as it sometimes does…) 


	12. Chapter 11: Continued

Chapter 11: Continued

(Or: The Fickle Nature of a Willow Sprig)

A/N: I know about the clothes, I'm just too lazy: I know I know I'm bad. There are a few small revisions on the first half of Chapter 11 tell me if that's any better. 

UPDATE! (Yeah, I know –FINALLY- but I have a brand new obsession and its taking its toll on my Phantom/Cats time. And I feel bad about it. This will be updated in pieces whenever I have time over the next few days, stupid school wanting me to work, and we should have a new complete chapter within the week! Also, I turned fifteen! Go me!)

__

"As long as I live…" she began, "I'll remember this night…and love you."

"Christine?" Meg's voice seemed to drift across infinity and her friend's rather pleasant dream within a dream was rudely interrupted. Christine swatted at Meg grumpily, upset at being disturbed in her reminiscence for fairly obvious reasons, and suddenly terrifically aware of the dull thud below her stomach that she had often noticed when her husband allowed her to see him not fully clothed.

"What do you want?" she finally mumbled irritably, a melodramatic mournful quality to her voice,

"It looks like rain, I heard a thunderclap and…" Christine groaned,

"If you insist, we'll go back." Meg smiled pleasantly and helped her friend to her feet. 

"You shouldn't get so comfortable, my mother and your husband will worry." Christine looked rather amused,

"You talk as though they're pacing the same room bouncing ideas as to our whereabouts off each other." She smoothed the many folds of her dress, making a face as she wiped hastily at the mud that adorned her bottom.

"Maybe someday they will be." Christine giggled,

"I'm sure they'd get along swimmingly, they're about the same age." Meg's mouth dropped open,

"What!" she squeaked. Christine turned to her friend,

"Your mother's…?"

"Fifty-five." Meg breathed,

"Well then, I was just about right. Erik's only in the vicinity of fifty-two…we're not _exactly_ certain." Meg mouthed for a moment without succeeding in producing actual speech. 

"Christine I don't care what you tell me, there is no way that man is fifty-two years old." Christine glanced at her,

"Well perhaps fifty-three, but certainly no more than that…Why Meg dear, you're ever so pale."

"And I thought mother looked good for her age." Meg plunked down on the damp grass and therefore earned an eye roll accompanied by a sigh from her friend,

"Oh, now you sit!" Christine tapped her foot irritably, now as anxious to get home to her husband as Meg had been to her mother. (Though for vastly different reasons and good nature had little to do with Christine's.) "Come along Meg, we're not getting out of the rain by standing about." She finally gave up waiting, dragged the petit dancer to her feet and proceeded to pull her back to the carriage. 

The return trip was quieter, but still gay and slightly more mischievous. Christine dropped vague -and not so vague- hints as to her thoughts on activity for the evening, but for the most part such things are lost on Meg and she only giggled and blushed helplessly. When they reached the opera Christine seemed to suddenly adopt a great urgency and she paid the driver good deal more handsomely than he deserved before skipping up the stairs two in a step, whistling all the while. Meg shook her head and followed, hoping her mother was still at the opera, and fearing her wrath if she wasn't.

Meanwhile… Christine seemed to burst into the house on the lake, casting about for her husband as she tossed her hat and shawl aside. He was sitting in the enormous armchair opposite the sofa and was putting his book down with and amused air,

"There you are!" his wife exclaimed, hurrying over to sit on his lap and kiss him welcome in a slow teasing manner. Christine presented the willow sprig with an animated smile, "Ta da! For you." She held it out and he took it, raising an eyebrow inquisitively,

"Willow my dear, what…?" a mockingly outraged smile passed his lips, "Darling!" he reprimanded feigningly

"That's my clever boy." Christine cooed as bent over him and licked his lips, just touching them with the tip of her tongue. Erik's fingers let the willow slip to the floor and his other hand forced Christine into a kiss, enjoying the unique taste of him she giggled against his mouth and set nimble fingers to work on his cravat. 

"I don't suppose," Erik breathed in a jovial tone when he regained the ability to speak, "that by willow you meant to mourn. For that _would_ be a pity." Christine looked up from kissing his collarbone,

"Oh no, I'm not mourning anything." Her mouth trailed after her fingers where they uncovered his smooth flesh, down his torso to his navel where she paused to rub her nose on his belly and make him laugh helplessly. A she was about to attack his trouser button he stopped her,

"Now that's not fair!" he protested, pushing her off onto the floor and carefully slinking down over her, "First I must ask you to even the score a little." He leaned over her and began to undo her dress. 

"You can wait, give me a minute." She pushed him off, or rather he allowed himself to be pushed off, "Men, only one thing on their minds." Erik burst out laughing; it was rarely him who had a one-track mind in their marriage,

"_I _can wait, hah." He muttered under his breath with a chuckle as Christine stood and dusted herself off with a barely controlled smirk. Being sure to ruffle her dress in Erik's face before bustling off to their room, she took no notice of him shaking hid head and laughing all over again as he settled to wait.

More tomorrow, because I should be sleeping.


	13. Chapter Eleven Continues to Continue

Chapter Twelve

She emerged a while later wrapped in a sheet, presumably pulled carelessly from their bed. The fire crackled and sparked, the flames leaping prominently as Christine turned out the gas lamps and extinguished the candles. She pilled more wood on the hungry fire and the luminosity from the hearth made the shadows dance seductively on the walls and across Christine's lust darkened face as she crossed the room to her husband's reclined form. He leant against a chair, his shirt open down the front and his eyes alight- sparkling and dancing in the firelight. 

Christine allowed the sheet to slowly slip from her form, exposing her nakedness. She sunk to the floor and crawled over Erik, she teased him for a moment by almost kissing him but then pulling away. Finally he pushed her onto her back and kissed her well, with a firm unusual roughness, this was the effect Christine desired- the pressure of his lips and, when he forced her mouth open, the caress of his tongue thrilled her. She always experimented to get him to take control, and he had.

Erik deprived her of his mouth suddenly, sitting up to remove his shirt. Christine pulled him back down on top of her, comforted under his weight, Erik's breathing was ragged and he swallowed thickly before taking her lips again. She moaned in pleasure under the deep spectacular kiss, her hands reviewing every muscle of his body; she had long-since memorised every nuance, every well-sculpted centimetre of him.

Christine slid a leg over his, noting the tantalising array of sensations of bare flesh against clothing and feeling mild jealousy at how completely fabric could caress every part of his body –exclusively her domain- all at once.

Erik abandoned her lips again, leaving them swollen from the fierce passion of the kiss, Christine held his head as he rained kisses down her neck, nipping gently at the smooth skin and giving much attention to the fleshy spot between her shoulder and neck. She pushed him, her fingers threaded through his hair, pushed him farther until she gasped in delight when he found her breast, suckling one while his hand covered the other. He bit the nipple ever so gently before finally continuing down her navel, looking up at her in a disarmingly sweet, mischievous way before kissing her playfully just above her belly button.

Christine giggled at him as he moved back up to kiss her lips; he didn't seem much in the mood for playing, the kiss didn't go on so long this time. She straightened to a sitting position, pushing him with her. Once thus arranged, Christine trailed her hands down his powerful body to attack the fastening on his pants again.

She undid them with the ease of long practise and lay back again, pulling him over her as her hands fell from his shoulders and went to his loose trousers, pushing them off while delaying for an unnecessary amount of time for excuse to run her palms over his buttocks.

"I told you I didn't mind if you just _did _that." Erik commented dryly, his voice breathy, picking up on Christine's actions,

"I don't know what you're talking about." Christine huffed, leaving her hands exactly where they were.

"Of course." Erik retorted half-laughing, putting swift end to the argument by claiming her mouth. Christine pushed his pants the rest of the way, her cheeks (among other, more colourful areas of her anatomy) burning with desire as she felt his in his body. There was never a day when she regretted the immense pain of losing her virginity, she wasn't sure she even remembered now, though she knew it must have been terrible with her first (and only) lover being such a man as he was.

Christine had tried to learn as much as possible from the ballet girls and she knew her husband was once again far above average… That particular man nibbled her earlobe in a gentle gesture he knew she loved, for some reason it provided her with whatever comfort she currently needed, or any other expression of affectionate emotion.

She turned her head to capture Erik's lips, an unspoken message in the kiss; she wanted him. Christine's loud noise of enjoyment echoed through the silent house, followed by other expressions of appreciation as Erik moved against her. Her hands danced over his velvety skin, now glistening with perspiration in the firelight, a moan escaped him and her hand moved to shove with his every thrust into her.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming as the sensual dance became faster and faster, she clutched Erik's shoulder desperately and repeated his name over and over while he made love to her. The intense pleasure built higher and higher, impossibly so until Christine felt she could no longer stand it- wrapping her arms and legs around her husband and squeezing him tighter when the ecstasy escalated again in its upward spiral, she bit his shoulder grunting in passion.

Then, blessed exploding release, she let a cry ring out that she could no longer contain and became a limp shuddering mass in Erik's arms. He gave her time to recover before slowly beginning the dance again, she turned him over so she straddled him, rolling and grinding her hips into his- her hair hanging limp and damp from sweat and her face flushed. Liquid from her recent climax oozed from their joined bodies, she added to it, flopping onto Erik's chest. He sat her up, their lovemaking became frantic and chaotic until they both met climax together, their cries as entangled as their bodies.

Lying in each other's arms, panting for breath a long moment went by, finally Erik kissed Christine's damp hair and moved to withdraw.

"No…" she mumbled weakly as she always did, she hated that moment of parting and the unpleasant feeling of him leaving her body that had never gone away with time. She lay flat on her back, cooling and breathing deeply when Erik picked up the rejected sheet and pulled it up to cover them both from the waist down. He kissed her again with slow passion that didn't soothe her, but sparked her need all over again. Christine tossed the sheet aside and grinned deviously as an idea crossed her currently dirty mind…

Nadir was muttering a long string of irritated, colourful-sounding Persian, only occasionally interrupted by his own venomous shouts for the sleepy, _damned stupid_ Viscount to hurry his aristocratic ass up. It had been hard enough to get that insufferable fop to come; he had certainly been 'in the middle' of something early this morning which was most definitely _not _sleeping. The very last image Nadir had ever wanted, or needed for that matter, imbeded permanently in his already crowded skull. At least he could count on Erik's home to be free of rabbits and to find his friend awake and fully clothed. 

Something queer was going on at the ex-Phantom's estate, though, because either the buzzer wasn't functioning or Erik hadn't heard it- and the likelyhood of that ranged from the zero to none categories. Nadir was forced to open the door himself, battling it out with the complicated, left-handed- to add insult to injury- mecanism, an extraordinarily difficult task.

_He must be out, _Nadir thought, his ire rising further with every passing second _the man has the ears of a bat; he'd have heard me fiddling with this God-forsaken piece of stone if not his alarm. _

When Nadir finally did manage to get into the house the only thing saving Christine de l'Opera from gross indecency was Erik's arm thrown across her chest. He also thanked- most merciful- Allah for the sheet covering them both from the waist down as he found himself blushing, rather than fuming as he burst into the room all ready to shout so loud they'd hear him upstairs.

There was a strange joy in seeing them together for anyone who knew either at all, the beauty of their costly peace made Erik's hard- to say the least- lifetime seem worthwhile. If it could lead through the hardships to embarrassments such as this. Nadir wasn't exactly certain if the viscount would see it that way… And indeed when Raoul finally stumbled in he looked as ashen-faced as a ghost and about ready to faint.

"What do they think they are!" Raoul exclaimed in a heated whisper, his angry breath hissing in Nadir's ear.

Nadir shushed him, but it was too late; Erik reacted to the viscount's voice and blinked the sleep from his eyes, starting to sit up. The flat of Nadir's hand resting insistently on his shoulder arrested his movement and he glanced at his friend questioningly. Nadir let his gaze drift to the sleeping Christine and then back to the confused mismatched eyes of his friend. Erik's followed and he instantly snatched the sheet up to cover his wife's bare breasts, only then moving his other arm. He sat up, crossing his legs so he could be sure the sheet completely covered him as well.

"What the devil- _you!_" Erik shot daggers at Raoul with his eyes, "Nadir, what the hell is going on here?"

Christine started to sit up and Erik's hand flew back just in time to prevent the sheet sliding from her body. She grinned sheepishly at Nadir and wrapped the sheet around her, motioning for Erik to let go. The pair huddled together, Christine's reaction almost worse than Erik's, (in a way) when she finally noticed Raoul. Her quiet mortification made everyone in the room shift uncomfortably and Nadir wondered if he must have had a death wish to storm into Erik's house uninvited.

Eventually things settled somewhat, the pair on the floor summoning up as much dignity as can be expected in such a situation- and Erik far more, being Erik- and seemed prepared to hear out what the Persian had to tell them. The daroga cleared his throat and looking sadly at Christine before informing them that there was an attempt on Meg Giry's life the previous night.

She had made it home safely, then decided to go for a walk alone at seven o clock in the darkened back alleys of Paris, as was her occasional (and foolish) custom. When she didn't return her mother summoned the police and told them look for her on a few specific streets where they found her stabbed once in the chest, not mortally, the wound dodging any essential organs, but she had lost a lot of blood.

Meg, when she awoke in hospital, told the authorities (more than half in a state of delirium with shock and morphine to dull her pain) that whomever her attacker had been, they had stolen one of her mother's dresses, because she clearly saw their retreating back as she lay on the cobblestones. She said she could see easily through the fog that it was one of mama's great, thick, gray gowns with the edges all worn from sweeping over the floor as the wearer walked.

The viscount had proved useful in all this confusion, utilizing his weight in gold to persuade the police that they wanted to share all the things they had learned. With Meg in a delicate condition and their having no proof they knew her at all, the assistance was a Godsend in recovering her testimony for posterity, or rather, for Erik. They were assured of Meg's well-being although they didn't get to see her, and thought it a rather successful endeavor; especially when the constable added that he would admit two people the patient had been asking for almost constantly: one Madame de l'Opera and her husband, Erik.

Nadir smiled wryly, then his expression fell again as he left a long lull of silence before adding to his narrative; "They will not permit Madame Giry to leave the premises."

The previous silence returned a thousand-fold and thickened until it almost seemed to pulsate in the heavy air of the underground room. The place was deadly still that way for long uncounted minutes before the uninvited- and unexpected- guests left the address for the hospital the Girys were housed in and withdrew hastily, leaving the lovers to compose themselves.

Erik and Christine bathed and dressed. Christine noticed her husband standing next to the bureau in his traditional evening wear- looking every inch the prince or king with his elegance and regal posture- staring down at the inverted mask as though it were prepared to devour him into the shadows that he had kept refuge in for so long.

_Erik really is a prince,_ Christine's mind mused absently, _he was a Prince of Darkness; but not in the way most people would take the use of that term. He was the lord of these lands beneath the Opera and the countless realms his imagination spirited them away to, King of the Shadows... and yet so full of light. So full of beauty..._ she supposed that was one of the many reasons she couldn't help herself but love him; he was such a devilishly complicated contradiction.

She made the few quick steps across the elegantly decorated, well-furnished room, pursing her rouged lips as she laid a gently hand on Erik's chest to guide him into the vanity chair. Her small, white fingers smoothed back thick locks of ebony black from his forehead and she bent to kiss the exposed flesh briefly before tracing the blue-black veins that laced his face, clearly visible through his semi-translucent skin. The skin itself was incredibly fine and thin, very easily cut by the slightest sharp edge, it was smooth and soft as silk. Christine kissed his closed eyelids and then his lips as she slowly picked up the mask, biting her lip as she covered his face and tied the black velvet ribbons in place, which colour perfectly matched his hair.

"I'm so sorry..." she murmured, some of her old skittish, frightened self from before he had made her strong shining through even after so long. But she said it as though her small apology could somehow help excuse the entire human race.

"You hardly need be, my dear." Erik commented as he stood, checking the mask with a self-conscious hand. His cold and business-like mannerism seemed to return with the hated garment and just as the visible barrier went back up, Christine thought she could almost sense the invisible one slide into place as well. Erik extended long, gloved fingertips to his wife, "Shall we?"

Meg would be abed for weeks, although the ebony-haired, wire-thin girl claimed vehemently to be more than well enough right away to dance three ballets alone. Madame Giry, satisfied that her daughter would not only live, but was comfortably well taken care of, was now alone in another room, contemplating her situation.

She wished, more than anything at the moment, that she had confessed her bloody secrets when she had had the chance, look what had come of the delay! Her own flesh and blood being hurt again- didn't that sound familiar! It had to be different this time, she had to put a stop to it all before history repeated itself, she couldn't allow that.

The police suspected her, that was clear enough, but the question was; would they find out about... _it_? Giry wished that her Richard could still be here, but whose fault was it that he wasn't? Whose fault was it Meg had never had a father? Hers! Perhaps it would be best to finally tell Meg the truth... No, she would first divulge to the Phantom and hope _he _could give her some great wisdom from the life after death- he had always been cunning and fair, the good Madame just hoped his vast intelligence flowed deeper than idle tricks and illusions...

Monsieur Moncharmin held his head in his hands, in fact, he was near tears. The little lead dancer, Giry, had been hurt in a mugging, her mother was suspected of the attempted murder of her own child; Christine hadn't been seen since rehearsals the day before and his own partner had finally entrusted him with his soiled past. Moncharmin couldn't help feeling ill-used and as if all this honesty was not a tad bit belated. So many secrets... they swirled around him in the empty room, his darkened office, so many unspoken words hovering in the air and riding on the breaths that never uttered them in so many sorid affairs.

Could tragedy never abandon this house? Was the Phantom of the Opera still lurking in the winding corridors, peering down at them from dark corners and watching with a critical eye from box five for all the flaws in the performances? Would they ever be free of the curse the ghost had laid on them all? As if he didn't have enough to worry about, their finest patron, the viscount, was taking to peculiar disappearances. Moncharmin's life of late was a tale of woe- and it never seemed to escape anything queer that ever happened in Paris.


	14. Some Things Are Only Funny When You Aren

_n/t_

_Nothing to see here, keep moving _


	15. 12 Continued: Some Things Are STILL Only

Chapter Thirteen

_An: This will be edited to an unrecognizable point as soon as I get everything straightened out. It needs it. Phew._

A month passed in relative quiet, Meg still in hospital and her attacker's identity still not resolved- although it seemed Madame Giry had been cleared to go about her business again. No one quite knew how it came to have happened, but no one seemed to question it either.

Christine bustled through the doorway of Meg's room; she had begun to fill out her gowns, her bosom and belly swelling to a full roundness neither had ever known before. She slipped off her cloak, determined not to hide her changing body from her best friend anymore, the time had come to tell her the happy tidings... When she stood over Meg and the latter was roused from an imaginary game of some sort, the rosy-cheeked child of a Meg Giry smirked-

Then her colour drained and her eyes widened in shock, "Christine!" she exclaimed excitedly, grinning maniacally and bent on spending her excess energy. "Why! I daresay- you're- you're!" 

"Yes..." Christine agreed with a warm smile, "I daresay I am."

"Gracious!" Meg laughed delightedly, pulling her friend down into a tight hug before pushing her back and looking over her again. The little dancer grinned, "Well, where's the lucky father, then? Wouldn't leave you alone with child, would he?" She winked. Having had time to grow somewhat accustomed- as much as she ever would be- to Erik's immense mystique and aura of darkness, Meg found it much easier to speak to and of him.

With the question, however, Christine's happy glow dimmed and she seemed suddenly pale and drawn, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder and wringing her hands in that nervous manner she used to have before Erik had brought out her inner strength and spiritedness.

She looked very sad when she answered, "He's… oh Meg, Heaven protect him," she crossed herself hurriedly as though Erik's life hung on the gesture, "He's so very ill!" She reached out for her friend's hand and squeezed it hard.

The little woman's eyes rounded with sympathy, "I thought you seemed preoccupied, my poor Christine… I know what he means to you." Her voice fell to a low whisper as she realized what Christine's situation would be if Erik were to die, she would have no where to go and would be far too stricken to work at the opera….

"Meg," Christine's large, luminous blue eyes glittered with tears, "is it wrong to love someone so much you'd rather die than live to see them broken? It hurts… it hurts me so very much to see him lying there when he's always been so strong…. He hasn't been up and dressed for days, Meg! I know it's something horrible to keep him bedridden- he finds it so undignified and he can't bare that; he's told me all the horrors he's lived through and it never kept him down…. He can't leave me now!"

"It's all right," Meg said weakly, trying to comfort the singer as she broke into near hysterical sobs.

"No," Christine cried mournfully, "I'll be very pregnant soon, then what? I won't be able to take care of him… My body is preparing to nurture the new life we've created, but all I can think about is Erik… am I very wicked, Meg?"

"Never, dear Christine," Meg embraced her friend and rocked her gently, hiding her face in the endless ringlets of chocolate brown hair. "Every person in the world longs to love as you have, most will never find it, it's a gift from Heaven… No matter what happens, always remember that and never think it's wrong."

The young diva pulled away, trying desperately to dry the tears that were still falling, hiccuping as she tried to hold them back, "Erik told me that… And that if he wasn't well again in a week I must go above ground with our baby and forget him." A sob broke through her defenses despite her efforts, "How can he even ask me to do that? I couldn't bare it…"

"He's thinking of you and the baby, Christine, I gather he knows more about illness then we ever will… If it comes to that you'll find a way to obey him, you're strong now, you grown so much since I first knew you…" Meg soothed, caressing her friend's curls.

"I'm only strong because he made me strong, Meg!" she burst out, "I can't be this new, better me without him there to catch me if I fall!"

Christine awoke with a start, her face warm where her cheek was against Erik's chest. She sat up slightly, willing herself to stop panting in short gasps of air and instead take long, deep breaths, willing the panic down. The dream had been so real she wasn't even certain what was dream and what was real… she ran her hand down her own body to her belly and suddenly knew, call it intuition, but she knew.

_I'll ask Erik in the morning, _she thought, yawning widely, snuggling herself up against her husband and hoping her next dream wouldn't embody her life's worst fear: loosing him. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the rest of the night passed in mindless oblivion.

And so it came to pass, in rather short order, that the couple of no given surname announced Christine's delicate condition to a dashed Persian gentleman and a very bored, skittish young dancer lying festering in a hospital bed. Both took the news in two ways, first with an open-mouthed, fish-like expression, eyeballs bulging in what Erik called a 'most unattractive manner' and small, strangled sounds coming from their open jaws. Then, after they had taken a moment to collect themselves, with surprised joviality; proclaiming some sort of celebration was in order and Nadir clapping Erik on the back and muttering in Persian while trying to pretend he wasn't crying. No, no, something in his eye, don't you see- No! I don't, I've something in my eye, damn it, Erik! It was all jolly fun for the couple.

It wasn't until Christine was long since showing that our most _beloved _Viscount was enlightened. Raoul was on his way to the annual dinner to visit Christine and couldn't- to save his life- fathom what that damnable Persian found so endlessly hilarious. He was so suspicious he was getting a headache as Erik poled the boat across the lake, as calmly and elegantly as ever, while Nadir spoke to him in his native tongue.

"Well, tell me how she is!" he smirked up at his old friend, rubbing his hands together in restless excitement.

Erik smiled in that slow, taunting way of his, barely visible in the near darkness and giving his reply in the same language, "She is very well, she tells me that it will be a son who'll be taller than me, because her belly has gotten to be so large. I told her perhaps she just ought to cut back on the chocolate." He grinned.

"Are you hurting for that?" Nadir question, cheekily, cracking his knuckles.

Erik turned away to hide his laughter, "I can't imagine what you mean."

The Persian chuckled, "I'll take that as a no."


	16. Chapter 12 Is STILL Continuing Blush

n/t

If I remove a chapter, will the reviews be deleted? I'm concerned.


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